


Finger Posts on the Road

by Litcraz



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cutting, Friendship, Gen, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 19:18:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3458804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Litcraz/pseuds/Litcraz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cutting used to be Mike's only release while growing up. As fights with Harvey and work get stressful, old habits prove to die hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS: For those that find this subject matter to be triggering or difficult to read, please don't hesitate to click away. For those that struggle with this issue - please don't hesitate to find someone you trust to talk to, or to call a local self-harm hotline. No, this sort of stuff can't "go away" overnight, but we all have to start somewhere. 
> 
> That being said: I haven't posted anything online for years, and I've never posted anything on AO3 before, so if I do things wrong or weird, please bear with me. I'm mostly just testing to see where I'm at writing-wise, so as a result this has mostly been written in one night, and may not be very good. We shall see!
> 
> This takes place around the beginning of season 3. 
> 
> Alright, off we go!

Mike wasn’t sure what he’d do if anyone else found out. The mere idea of it had been pushed back so far in his mind that he never bothered to worry. Of course when he first started, he worried. He worried all the time. But then the worry only proved to make him anxious, and as a result of being anxious, he’d cut. Which would only make him more worried, self-loathing, and anxious, which would make him cut again. It was a vicious circle, one that Mike had always felt was impossible to get out of; so he stopped trying. But then he’d gotten a job as a lawyer – a real, actual, legitimate lawyer – working for a real law firm, and for a real senior-partner, and everything changed. He’d felt like he’d been given the Holy Grail, and while the days passed into weeks, and the weeks passed into months, the euphoria and happiness he’d felt never really faded away.

  
With this new change came new choices, and Mike was determined to make a life for himself that his parents would be proud of. He stopped smoking pot, stopped spending time with Trevor, and even eventually stopped hanging out with Jenny. His paycheque increased to numbers he wasn’t even sure he’d seen in his entire lifetime, and suddenly the burden of supporting both himself and his grandmother was gone. All of the debts he’d incurred over the years were now being paid, and he’d even been able to pay ahead on his rent. And most of all – he’d stopped cutting. It had been a conscious and difficult decision, but one that Mike was determined to keep, because everyone had to start somewhere and that time might as well be now. And as he continued working for Harvey, his life continued to get better in every single way imaginable. Everything was looking up.

  
But then the fight with Harvey came and everything had come crashing down.

  
He’d come back to his apartment that night seething with anger, not the least of which was directed at himself. He’d been angry that Harvey was mad at him, but he was just as angry that he’d let Jessica threaten him and he didn’t go to Harvey about it. He was stupid – he was so, so stupid. Harvey was right; he should have gone directly to him as soon as he was in trouble, he should have trusted him to take care of it, to help him. But he hadn’t. And now they were here, in this massive mess, all thanks to him, and Mike wondered if everything he had been working for the past year had just been blown into a million pieces.

  
He’d sat on his sofa for nearly an hour, running his hands through his hair and trying to calm himself down. But Harvey was right. He was the biggest idiot in the world; he was a liar, he was a traitor – it was no wonder that Harvey hated him; that of course meant Donna hated him, too, and when word got out, he wouldn’t have a single friend in that building left. So when his eyes began to grow hot and sting, and he happened to look up at the kitchen drawer, he knew what he had to do. Without a second thought he got up and walked into the kitchen, pulling a knife out of its holder. It wasn’t a large knife, not as large as he’d used before, but it wasn’t small, either. It had a slightly jagged run to it, which Mike usually used for cutting bread. But not tonight.

  
Mike gripped the knife tightly in his hand and walked back to the sofa, quietly sitting down. He stared at the knife for a moment, before quickly rolling up his sleeve. He placed the edge of the knife against his skin, hesitating for only a second before pressing it in and sliding it across.

  
Blood welled up from the wound, hiding the cut and staining the knife. Mike finished the cut and stared at it for a moment, watching the blood pool and run down the side of his wrist. His arm stung, but he didn’t feel it, so he placed the knife an inch below the cut and began again.

  
Six more times he did it. He relished in the feeling of the serrated edge digging into his skin, forcefully and painfully pulling it apart. He watched with satisfaction as the blood ran down his arm, dripping onto the floor. On the seventh cut he stopped, because, he thought vaguely, seven was a lucky number, and luck was something he desperately needed right now.

  
He’d sat back into the sofa, feeling a bit light-headed, his arm held out before him like a sacred object in a reliquary. He watched as the blood from the cuts met and joined each other, covering his arm in red from his wrist to his elbow. The blood dripped unceasingly, Mike unaware that it was leaving a very large stain on his pants.

  
Mike suddenly felt very tired; everything that had happened that day seemed to catch up with him at that moment, and any energy he’d still had drained away along with all of his worry over Harvey, Jessica, Pearson-Hardman, and every stupid, detestable, idiotic thing he’d ever done.

  
As his eyes began to fall lower with every blink, he wondered if maybe he should put something on the cuts to stop them from bleeding. But as he watched the blood fall, and the pain of the cuts overwhelmed his thoughts, he realised that he didn’t care – and that whatever happened, happened. So he closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

The next day he’d woken to find that, very much by accident, he had tucked his arm in his side during the night, which he vaguely realised had probably stopped the bleeding. His arm had stuck to his white button-up as a result, and stung as he pulled it away from the fabric. A few of the cuts re-opened at the movement, but the bleeding was little compared to the night before. He walked to the bathroom and took a long, hot shower; afterwards he grabbed some Band-Aids, putting them on haphazardly, knowing that he already was late for work. He didn’t think much of it as he grabbed a new shirt out of his closet and put it on, the feeling of euphoria and calm still not having worn off, but he made sure his cuffs completely covered his wrist up to the palm, and making sure his jacket did as well.

  
He thought it would be just the one time. That this fight with Harvey would be over soon, and that everything would get back to normal. But despite his hopes and determination to not let his life fall off a tail-spin like it had too many times before, he found that after having started cutting, he couldn’t stop. The night after he first cut, he found himself cutting again, adding more lines to the ones already gathered on his arm. Harvey hadn’t accepted his apology, not even when he apologized a million times. And the looks Harvey had given him – they made him feel like scum, like the worst person to have ever walked the earth, as though Harvey couldn’t believe that he was still alive. Mike tried to put on a smile, to pretend that it didn’t bother him. But it did. It always did.

  
The cutting was worse during his banishment from Harvey and Donna’s life than it had been in the last eight years combined. He cut every night, making new marks on every free space of arm and shoulder, for every stupid thing he did each day, for every look of despise that Harvey reigned down on him, for every look of pity that Donna gave when he walked by, but which was always mixed with anger and disappointment, wondering how he could possibly be so disloyal, so stupid, and still be alive. When there was no more space on his arms, he began to cut on his hip and down his thigh. He was never more thankful than then that he had a job that required nearly every inch of his body to be covered.

  
And then they’d made up. Harvey had forgiven him, had taken him back, and everything had gone back to normal.  
At least, it was supposed to.

  
It was the second day after Harvey had forgiven him, when they were discussing a case and he had said something and Harvey had made an angry critique in return. The two had talked heatedly for a few minutes, before finally agreeing on the best plan of action for their client. It was inconsequential; it was something that every lawyer – heck, every person – did. He and Harvey had had thousands of them in the past; heck, it was basically part of the job description. It was just an argument.

  
But it wasn’t.

  
That night Mike returned home, at first unable to understand why he was so upset and bothered, but then remembering Harvey’s words and wishing that he could just crawl into a hole and die. Before he’d even taken his jacket off he found himself walking into the kitchen and grabbing the serrated knife from its holder, and before he knew what was happening, two neat marks had been cut into his wrist. At first he was upset, because this wasn’t supposed to happen, this sort of thing was supposed to stop now that he and Harvey had made up. But as he saw the healed skin below, and all the difficult memories of the day returned, he found himself cutting in three more lines before setting the knife down and leaning back with a sigh. Eventually he’d get some rags and stop the bleeding, but for now he’d simply enjoy it.

  
It didn’t stop. As each day passed, whenever Harvey, or Louis, or Jessica, or anyone else said something to him that made him feel terrible, or inspire a slew of self-loathing and self-hateful words to scream through his mind, he would come home and pick up his knife, and he’d feel good. He began to look forward to it; it became the one thing in his entire day that he could have for himself, that would always fix all his mistakes, all his stupid decisions, and leave him feeling that maybe, just maybe, he could get through this life after all.

  
It became routine. It became normal. And because he wore a suit all the time, he didn’t have to worry about covering anything up – so he didn’t.  
Which is why six months later, when Harvey grabbed him forcefully by the arm during an argument as he tried to leave his office, he was left totally unprepared for what happened after.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for such a warm reception, you guys! Thanks to all who left kudos and comments! You guys are fantastic. I hope you enjoy the chapter!

“Harvey, did Donna give you those files I left last night?”

  
Harvey glanced up at Mike, who had just walked into his office, and looked back down at his paperwork.

  
“Yeah, I got them.”

Mike raised his hands questioningly. “What did you think?”

  
Harvey raised an eyebrow. “What did I think?”

  
“Yeah; are we going to do the deposition with Friedman, or what?” Harvey signed his name at the bottom of the page with a flourish and set the paper aside, pointedly ignoring Mike’s stare. Mike frowned. “Come on, Harvey, you can’t think it’s that bad an idea! If we press on Friedman and get him to confess, we’ll get a whole new window to work with! Let’s do it!”

  
“No.”

  
“Harvey –.”

  
“I said no, Mike, and that’s final.”

  
“That’s final? Come on Harvey, it’ll work! Just give me a shot at it; I swear I can get the guy to break. I –.”

  
“Mike, I said no, and if you continue to fight me on this I swear I’ll give you to Louis for a week.”

  
“Well why not? Why is my idea so bad, huh?”

  
Finally Harvey looked up, catching Mike’s eye. “Because it’s stupid, and we’re not doing it. Friedman most likely has nothing for the case, and if we push him, we’ll lose the one guy that can help us when we get the guy that we actually do need.”

  
“I’ve talked to him, Harvey – he knows something!”

  
“No, he doesn’t.”

  
“Yes he does!”

  
Harvey stood to his feet, glaring at Mike. “No, he doesn’t, and if you try to press him for information he doesn’t have, I’ll kick your ass into next week.”

  
Mike glared in return. “That family needs us to win this, and if we lose our chance with this guy, then we’ll lose the entire case.”

  
“No, we won’t – you’re exaggerating. Just go back to work and finish the files I gave you this morning, and don’t go near Friedman.”

  
Mike held Harvey’s eyes for a few brief moments, before shaking his head. “I can get this guy to confess, I know I can. Just give me the day.” He turned around and started to leave.

  
“Mike, I said no.” Mike just started to open the door when Harvey’s hand suddenly grabbed his arm.

  
Mike gasped, his breath hissing sharply through his teeth. Pain shot up to his elbow and down to his wrist; he could feel the barely and half-healed cuts split open, breathing fire up and down his arm.

  
“I said, don’t go near Friedman! I –.” Harvey stopped. “What’s wrong with you?” Harvey let Mike go and Mike quickly tucked his arm into his chest, breathing through the pain. No one said anything for a moment. “What was that?” Harvey asked again when Mike continued not to speak.

  
“It’s nothing,” Mike said, forcing himself to casually put his arm to his side, acting as though everything was fine. “I just bumped my arm the other day and it’s a bit bruised now, that’s all.”

  
“You managed to bruise your arm by bumping it? How hard did you hit it?”

  
“Pretty hard.” Mike angled his arm so that the cuts lay hidden against his side, wishing he had brought his suit jacket. He could feel the fabric beginning to dampen, and he didn’t need to look at it to know that the wounds were bleeding.

  
Harvey looked at him oddly for a moment longer, before turning and heading back to his desk. “Well quit injuring yourself; I need my associate to at least be competent enough to keep himself alive.” Harvey sat back down in his chair, giving Mike one last look before turning back to his paperwork. “Get back to work, Mike,” he said. “And don’t go near Friedman – I mean it.”

  
Mike nodded as he opened the door, and left the room. Donna glanced up at him as he came out, the edges of her eyes portraying her concern. “Is everything alright?” she asked. Mike nodded, suddenly unable to get his tongue to move; all he could think about was getting to the washroom as fast as he could and make the bleeding stop as fast as possible. Donna’s eyebrows furrowed in concern, and her eyes followed the younger man as he walked past her desk and down the hallway.

Mike all but ran into the washroom, halting only briefly as he met one of the associates on his way out. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that no one else was in there. He immediately went into one of the stalls, put down the toilet seat, and sat down.

  
His heart was thumping wildly and he closed his eyes tightly, taking in deep breaths and slowly letting them out, trying to get himself under control. After a long moment he opened them again and looked down at his arm, inspecting the damage.

  
A large patch on the underside of the shirt’s sleeve was covered with blood. It wasn’t soaking through, but if he didn’t do something about it now, it would be. He unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, laying it on his lap. Most of the cuts along the length of his arm were fine, but the ones that had come under Harvey’s grasp were red and bleeding. Mike grabbed a bunch of toilet paper and pressed it on the wounds, wondering why on earth he hadn’t bandaged them up the day before. He often did bandage them whenever certain cuts became too deep, or wouldn’t stop bleeding, but he had thought he was safe with these ones. The cuts he’d made last night weren’t particularly deep, and they hadn’t bled for nearly as long as others had in the past, so Mike had no idea why they opened up so easily.

  
He leaned back against the toilet with a sigh, waiting for the bleeding to stop. That had been close – too close. He’d never had that happen before, at least not on this scale, and the idea of Harvey finding out the truth of why he’d hurt him was almost too over overwhelming to bear. But it was fine, Mike told himself, because Harvey wouldn’t find  
out; he’d bought his lie without a hitch, and neither of them would say any more about it. Now all he had to do was make it back to his desk without anyone seeing the blood, put on his suit jacket, and the rest of the day would be smooth sailing. Not a problem.

  
Mike closed his eyes.

  
Not a problem.

***

Harvey finished the last of the papers he needed to sign and gathered them up, putting them away into a folder. After this he was going to go outside and get something to eat, and then he’d come back and check on Mike, because when that kid got an idea in his head he could sometimes have a difficult time letting go, and –

  
Wait.

  
What was that?

  
Harvey frowned, pulling out the papers he had just put away. He moved a couple of them aside until he found the one he was looking for. He stared at it, realising that that what he had seen was indeed a stain. A red stain.

  
His initial reaction was a mixture of annoyance an anger, because a stain meant that a whole new document would have to be made up and he’d have to sign it all over again, and that meant whatever deal it was finishing would take that much longer to go through, and –

  
But wait. He didn’t have anything red. He didn’t even have red pens, except for the ones he kept in his desk for rare occasions of editing, but he didn’t usually edit anything anymore. Either an associate or paralegal did that, or he used a highlighter. And those were yellow, not red. So why was the paper red?

It was only when Harvey moved his hand that he realised the stain was coming from him. He turned his hand up, frowning at it incredulously, wondering how on earth he’d managed to stain his hand. He was a high-class lawyer – he didn’t get involved with anything messy, he couldn’t afford to –  
Harvey stopped, suddenly realising what it was. It was blood. He inspected his hand, but found no cut on it; he was sure he hadn’t injured it, he hadn’t even so much as bumped it. So why –

  
Harvey froze.

  
Mike.

  
The blood was on the same hand that he had grabbed Mike’s arm with, the one that Mike had said he’d bruised because he was clumsy, or something like that. But then why –  
Harvey paused, and his frown deepened. He pressed the button down on the intercom.

  
“Donna, get Mike back in here. Now.”

***

Mike had just gotten back to his desk when the phone rang with Donna on the other end, telling him that Harvey wanted him back in his office right away. He wondered what Harvey could possibly want; he hadn’t had that long a time to make phone calls to Friedman, much less leave the building in search of him himself. So what could be the problem?

  
He arrived at Donna’s desk and shot her a quizzical look, but she just shook her head in return, clearly as baffled as he was. He shot a quick glance through the glass, and saw that Harvey was still sitting behind his desk, looking the same as when he’d left him. With a shrug, Mike went inside.

  
The moment the door closed behind him, Harvey spoke. “I thought you said you weren’t going to lie to me anymore.”

  
Mike blinked.

  
“What?”

  
Harvey glanced up at Mike, as though daring him to say that again.

  
“You lied to me. I thought we’d agreed that wasn’t going to happen anymore.”

  
Mike stared blankly at the older man, completely lost. “What are you talking about, Harvey?”

  
Harvey frowned, and Mike could tell he’d somehow just pissed him off more. “I’m talking about your arm. You said that you bruised it by accident, right? That you’d ‘bumped’ it? But you didn’t, did you?”

  
Harvey’s voice was suddenly drowned out by the blood rushing to Mike’s ears, and his heart began to pound. His breath caught in his throat and he vaguely felt like he was going to be sick.

  
“What… what are you talking about? I said I bumped it and I did, I –.”

  
“No, you didn’t.” Harvey was standing now. When did he do that? “You cut your arm. I know because you bled all over my hand.”

  
Mike’s whole body went completely numb, and his muscles froze. How did figure it out? How could he have possibly figured it out? He hadn’t shown anyone, no had had seen, he’d –

  
“So who did you fight?”

  
Mike blinked.

  
Wait, what?

  
Mike realised belatedly that Harvey was waiting for him to speak, and he quickly began trying to untie his tongue.

  
“Um, I – that is, I uh, I just… fought, and I… I got… mugged.” Mike cursed himself for taking so long to answer, and for not thinking his answer through. So much for having an eidetic memory.

  
Harvey raised an eyebrow. “You got mugged? When the hell did that happen?”

  
Mike desperately tried to think up an answer. “A couple… a couple days ago. Yeah, I was walking home because my bike… my bike got a flat tire, and I… someone jumped me; they didn’t really do anything, just waved their knife around and wanted my money – you know, the usual sort of thing. I was stupid and fought them, and as a result my arm got sliced. It wasn’t deep, you don’t have to worry. After I gave them my money they left and I went home; not a big deal.”

  
“Not a big deal? Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

  
Mike swallowed. “Yes. Honestly Harvey, nothing happened. I got home, bandaged my arm, and it was fine!”

  
“It was ‘fine’? You got held up at knife point and you say it’s just ‘fine’? You have no idea where that knife has been! It could have a thousand diseases on it and you wouldn’t know!”

  
“It’s fine, Harvey, just drop it.”

  
“Why on earth didn’t you tell me?”

  
“Because I told you – it’s not a big deal! What was I supposed to do? Call you? What would you have done? Nothing! Because you can’t do anything about it! It’s over and done with and to be honest, it’s none of your business!” He was yelling. When had he started yelling? And now that Mike thought about it, he realised that he was actually angry. But why?

  
Harvey seemed as much at a loss as Mike. “Mike, I’m just trying to help you out,” he said, looking at Mike in confusion. “You don’t have to bite my head off.”

  
Mike stared at Harvey a moment longer before turning around and running his hands through his hair, trying to calm himself down. He had no idea why he was so angry, but he knew that if he didn’t leave, he’d say something he’d regret. “I’m going to finish the briefs,” he said finally, walking towards the door. “Unless you need anything else?”  
Harvey shook his head. “No, you can go.”

  
Mike opened the door, about to step out, when he paused. “Thanks for your concern, Harvey,” he said. “Really. But I’m fine; you don’t have to worry about me.” With that, Mike left, the door shutting quietly behind him. After a few moments it opened again and Donna walked in.

  
“What do you think that was?” Harvey asked her, his eyes following Mike down the hallway with a frown.

  
“I don’t know. But something’s definitely up with him. He’s been acting weird all day.”

  
“You think he lied about getting mugged?”

  
“I think he lied about something; whether it was getting mugged or not, I don’t know. But you should talk to him, Harvey.”

“I just did; and if you’ll remember, it didn’t exactly go well.”

  
“Well wait for him to cool down, then try again. Something’s bothering him, and he needs a friend to talk to about it.”

  
“So why are you telling me to do it?” Donna just gave him a look. Harvey groaned, sitting back down in his chair. “Fine,” he said. “But if the whole thing blows up, don’t blame me.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all who've commented and left kudos! You guys are amazing. I've really appreciated the support! I hope I can do your expectations justice :)

Harvey had intended to talk to Mike, he really did, but time had gotten completely away from him and the rest of the day had been spent chasing after clients and finding ways to win their trials. Donna kept shooting Harvey glances whenever Mike was nearby or in the office, but Harvey blatantly ignored her; he wasn’t about to put all their work on hold in order to sit down in a circle together and share their feelings while singing ‘kumbaya’. And besides, Mike seemed to be in a much better mood than he had that morning, so maybe the problem had fixed itself and Harvey wouldn’t even have to bring it up. 

The day ended in a rush, and the next day began in a rush. Mike was thankful for it, as he was able to almost forget what had happened in Harvey’s office and how close he’d come to finding out the truth. And when they managed to pull a big win with one of their client’s cases, he was able to put it out of his mind completely. Harvey hadn’t brought it up, hadn’t tried to call him out on his lie, and so for all intents and purposes, everything had gone back to normal. Mike gratefully breathed a sigh of relief.

The clock hit twelve noon and so to celebrate their win, Harvey and Mike went out to the hotdog stand outside the office building to grab some lunch. 

“So, what do you think we should do about Friedman?” Mike asked as he bit into his hotdog. 

Harvey rolled his eyes, speaking through a mouthful of food. “Come on, Mike, we just finished off the deal with Mason; I’m not gonna jump into the ring with you on Friedman. Just eat your hotdog and be happy.”

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to talk with your mouth full?” Mike asked with a grin. 

“I’m a grown-ass lawyer; I can do whatever I want.”

“Yeah, but it’s disgusting.”

“Not as disgusting as your face.”

“Oh thanks Harvey, that’s really mature. I – .” Suddenly out of nowhere a bike appeared, clipping Mike on the shoulder and throwing him to the ground. The biker managed to stay upright, and after steadying himself he tossed a haphazard look back, before quickly pedaling away. 

“HEY!” Harvey shouted, instinctively taking a few steps after the man. The cyclist ignored him, though, and disappeared around the corner. After a moment he heard a groan and he quickly turned his attention to Mike, who was in the process of sitting back up. “Are you okay?” Harvey asked, reaching down his hand to help the younger man up. He heard Mike speaking, but his voice fell into the background in an unintelligible buzz, as Harvey’s muscles suddenly turned into ice. 

The shirt-sleeve that Mike was wearing, on the arm where the biker had clipped him, was torn; it wasn’t a massive tear, but it was enough for part of Mike’s forearm to be exposed, and for Harvey to see the mass of lines running up and down the skin. 

It didn’t register at first. He blinked, his hand automatically helping Mike up to his feet, but he was unable to remove his eyes from Mike’s arm. Mike didn’t notice Harvey’s stare, focusing instead on brushing the dirt off himself and straightening his shirt. The torn sleeve disappeared when Mike put on his suit jacket, which he had carried with him outside. It was only when he heard Mike saying his name, did Harvey look up with a start. “What?” he asked.

Mike gave him an weird look. “I said, ‘I’m fine, thanks for asking’. But clearly getting clipped by a biker is still not enough for the Great Harvey Specter to show he cares.”

Harvey frowned. “Did he hurt you?” 

“No, my hotdog is worse off than I am.” Mike picked up the fallen food, which was now covered with dirt, frowning as he walked over and tossed it in the garbage bin. “That’s $3.25 I’ll never see again. Can I have yours?”

Harvey blinked. “What?”

“Can I have your hotdog? You have more than enough to share.”

Harvey looked at Mike incredulously. “What? No, you can’t have my lunch! Go buy another one if you’re so hungry.”

“Come on, Harvey – I was just run over by a jerk on a bicycle! Show some sympathy.” 

“You’re not having any, Mike; get over it.” Mike pretended to pout, purposefully putting on his ‘pity me’ eyes. Harvey ignored him.

Mike huffed. “Well if you’re not going to help your injured, hungry associate, then I’m going back inside to start on the new Friedman files.” 

“Yeah, and that’s all you’re doing; if I find out you called him, there’ll be hell to pay.” 

“Yeah, yeah.”

Harvey watched as Mike walked away and opened the building door, the disappeared inside. He remained rooted where he was for a moment, as everything that had just happened began to catch up with him. After a moment he finally moved, walking to the bin and throwing his half-eaten hotdog away; he no longer had an appetite. 

***  
Harvey sat in his office, leaning back in his chair and staring at his desk. Files were spread out in front of him, but he wasn’t looking at them. He’d been staring at them now for a good half hour, and the hour and a half he’d spent before that hadn’t been any more productive. After another ten minutes of silence, he finally placed his hand over the intercom. He hesitated only for a moment, before pressing the button down.

“Donna, could you come in here?”

Two seconds later the door was opening and Donna walked in. “What is it?” she asked. She acted like she didn’t know why Harvey had called her, but the slight strain in her eyes betrayed her concern. 

Harvey stared at her, his hand cupping his chin, his expression unreadable. After a long moment, he spoke. 

“I think Mike is hurting himself.”

Donna blinked. 

“What?”

“I think that’s why he’s been so skittish these past few days, and why he freaked out when I grabbed his arm. He said that he got cut while being mugged, but I think he was lying. I think the only one doing any cutting is himself.”

Donna stood in stunned silence for a long moment, before saying, “Harvey, that’s a massive accusation; you can’t just say something like that with no evidence. Why would you – why would you even think –.”

“He got clipped by a biker during lunch, and it tore his sleeve. I saw the cuts on his arm when I was helping him back up.” Donna just stared at him, and Harvey continued. “He doesn’t know I know.”

Donna, for once, was at a loss of words. 

“Harvey, you can’t… Mike wouldn’t do something like that, not our Mike.”

“You don’t think I’ve thought that?” Harvey rolled his chair back and stood to his feet, staring Donna straight in the eye. “Believe me, that’s all I’ve been thinking for the past two hours. I don’t want to believe it any more than you do, but it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Donna said nothing, and Harvey could tell she didn’t want to believe him. But whether it really was true or not – and he really, really hoped it wasn’t – he had to say something. Because if there was a problem that was causing Mike to feel as though he had to hurt himself in order to keep his head above water, then that problem needed to be fixed.

Donna bit her lip. “But why…?”

“He did lose his grandmother recently,” Harvey said quietly. “And he doesn’t have his parents. Maybe he felt it was the only way out.”

“The way out of what?”

“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”

“Do you want me to call him? Because maybe you’re wrong, maybe the cuts you saw were just the scratches from the cement when he fell.”

Harvey shook his head. “I know what I saw, and those weren’t new; they’d been there for a while.”

Donna stared at him for a long moment, biting her lip. Finally she asked, “Should we talk to him now?”

“No. We’ll wait until the end of the day when everyone’s gone home. Then we’ll talk.”

***  
The end of the day couldn’t come fast enough, and yet it was the part of the day that Harvey wanted to avoid the most. He spent the rest of the day sifting through files on their latest cases, while at the same time studiously avoiding Mike as best as he could. He buried him in paperwork that he knew would take him through to the evening to finish, and claimed he was busy whenever he asked to discuss something. During the few times he did have to speak with him, Harvey couldn’t stop himself from glancing at his arm, which was still covered by his jacket. Donna, too, couldn’t stop herself from looking at him in blatant concern every time he came by. Thankfully, he was oblivious to it all.

By 7:00pm, nearly everyone had gone home, leaving only Harvey, Donna, Mike, and a few wayward associates left. Harvey stared out his window, knowing that he had to call Mike in soon; the constant glances he received from Donna outside his door told him that she knew the time was arriving, as well.

Finally, when the clock hit 7:15, Harvey picked up the phone.  
–   
Mike wondered why Harvey had called him so late; he had been hoping to go home after being stuck with paperwork all day. He hoped that Harvey just wanted to tell him some last bit of information on one of their cases before giving him his freedom, but when he walked into the office and saw Donna sitting on the couch and Harvey standing by the window with his hands in his pockets, he knew that something was up.

“Hey,” Mike greeted, shutting the door behind him. “What’s up?”

Harvey turned around and Donna looked up at him. Mike tensed. Something was off. 

“Mike,” Harvey greeted. “I wanted to talk to you. Why don’t – why don’t you sit down?”

Harvey stumbled. Harvey never stumbled. Harvey was the most fast talking, articulate man that Mike knew – he didn’t stumble over his words. Something was wrong. He glanced between Harvey and Donna. 

“Why?” he asked carefully, staying where he was. “What’s wrong?”

Harvey took his hands out of his pocket and took a step forward. Mike fought the urge to take a step back. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Harvey said. “We just want to talk to you. How’s your arm?”

Mike’s heart began to beat faster. 

“What?”

“When that biker hit you, you scraped your arm. How is it?”

He saw that? Mike had panicked when he realised that his shirt had torn, but he had assumed that since Harvey hadn’t said anything, he therefore hadn’t seen anything. Mike forced himself to calm down. Maybe Harvey only assumed that he’d gotten scratched on the cement and was wanting to check on him – maybe that was all. Yeah, that had to be all it was. 

“It’s fine, it was just a scratch.” 

“Do you mind if I check?”

Mike felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

“Why would you want to check it? It’s not a big deal.”

“Then you won’t mind if I check it. Knowing you, you probably got it infected.” Harvey took a step forward. This time, Mike did step back, unconsciously pressing his arm against his side. 

“No, Harvey. You don’t need to do that.”

“Why can’t you let me check?” Harvey asked, sounding upset. Why was he so upset? “If it’s not a big deal, then why won’t you let me see it?”

“Because it’s none of your business!” Mike retorted, trying not to yell. Why was Harvey pushing this? “I don’t have to show you every bump and bruise I get like a little kid! Contrary to what you believe, I’m your associate, not your puppy. I –.”

“Are you cutting yourself?”

Everything came to a halt. 

Mike stared at Harvey, his eyes wide, his breath catching in his throat. Blood rushed to his ears, and for a moment the whole world stood still. 

Finally, after a long, painful silence, Mike spoke.

“Wh…what?” he asked. 

Harvey was looking at him with an expression that he only got when he knew someone was hiding something from him and he was determined to wring out the truth.

“I said, are you cutting yourself?”

Mike gaped. “I… I’m not… why would you think that?”

“I saw your arm, Mike. When you got clipped the biker tore your sleeve, and I saw the cuts on your arm. I’m not an idiot; you didn’t get those cuts from falling on the ground.”

The room suddenly felt too small, as though the walls were closing in all around him. Mike felt the back of his neck heat up, and his palms began to sweat. He suddenly wanted to be anywhere other than here. 

“I’m not… I’m not cutting myself, Harvey. I can’t believe you’d… how could you even think – .”

Harvey’s frown deepened in annoyance. “Then let me see your arm! And if I’m wrong, I’ll apologise and we’ll forget this whole thing ever happened.”

Mike didn’t move. Harvey glared and walked towards him. “Damn it, Mike, just show me your arm!” Mike immediately stepped back, until he ran into the wall. Harvey reached for his arm and Mike immediately pulled it away. 

“Back off, Harvey!”

Donna’s voice suddenly spoke in concern, saying, “Harvey –.” but neither man heard it. Harvey finally grabbed a hold of Mike’s arm, and before Mike could shove him away, he pushed up the sleeve. 

Everyone froze. Harvey’s voice could be heard quietly uttering a curse, and Mike vaguely thought he heard Donna gasp.

Harvey stared in shock. He wouldn’t deny it – there had been a part of him that had hoped that he’d been wrong, that the marks he’d seen really were just from the cement, that Mike was telling the truth when he denied his accusations. But now…

The cuts seemed to cover every inch of skin on Mike’s forearm, from the base of his wrist up to his elbow, where they continued on until they disappeared under his sleeve. Most were horizontal, but a few of them were vertical, criss-crossing across his skin like a frightening, but mesmerising, dance. Many of them were old, scabbed over and fading into scars. Others, however, were new, with fresh red lines that were just beginning to heal. Harvey suddenly felt sick. 

“Are you done staring at the freak-show, now?”

Harvey looked up; Mike was glaring at him in an anger he had never seen from him before, his eyes bloodshot and shining with unshed tears. Donna, already having stood to her feet, walked over to them with her hand covering her mouth, her eyes wide and threatening tears. “Mike…” She stared at his arm in disbelief, unable to find words to say. 

Harvey tried to gather himself together, tried to organise his thoughts into words, but all he could ask was a quiet, “Why?” 

Mike didn’t answer; instead he pulled his arm from Harvey’s grasp, which Harvey let go without any struggle. He pulled his sleeve back down his arm and proceeded to button up his jacket. Harvey belatedly realised that he was going to leave.

“Mike, no – we have to talk about this.”

“You got what you wanted, Harvey. You know I’m a freak and you’ve made sure everyone else knows, too. I hope you’re happy.”

Donna took a step forward. “Mike, honey – no, Harvey’s right, we have to – we have to talk about this.”

Mike glanced up at them one last time, looking all like an angry animal that had just been beaten into submission. Without another word he turned around, opened the door, and left. 

Donna and Harvey remained where they were, watching as Mike walked down the hallway and disappeared. After a moment, Donna spoke.   
“Do you think… should go after him?”

Harvey let out a breath that he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “And do what? Hold him down and force him to tell us why he’s cutting himself? Right, because he responded so well to that now.”

Donna choked out a sob, and Harvey immediately felt guilty. He turned around and faced her. “I’m sorry, Donna. I didn’t… I didn’t think it’d actually...” he trailed off.

“How could we have not seen it?” Donna asked. “How could we have not seen that he was hurting himself? How could we have not seen that things were this bad?”

Harvey just shook his head. He wondered that, too, but for now all they could do was wait. Tomorrow he’d make Mike talk, but for now he’d let them all get some much needed rest; for he knew the battles that were about to come, and they would be far from easy.

***   
Mike slammed the door of his apartment behind him, throwing his bag on the ground and kicking off his shoes, sending them flying into the wall. He tore off his jacket, unaware of his ripping the buttons, and threw it on the ground. He stood still for a moment, unsure where to lead his anger next, when he then spotted his lamp beside the couch. In a moment of pure rage, he walked over to the lamp, picked it up, and threw it across the room. The glass shattered and fell to the ground in pieces. Mike glared at the mess, anger and a rising humiliation coursing through his body. 

How could they? How could they do that to him? How could they call him into the office, pretending like everything was fine, making him believe that they just wanted to talk, and then suddenly demand he show them his arm, while accusing him of cutting himself? How could they do that to him?! He hadn’t done anything to them, he hadn’t – he didn’t deserve – . Mike took a shuddering breath, trying to force himself to calm down; the anger and adrenaline slowly beginning to drain away. 

How could he have been so foolish? How could he have thought that Harvey hadn’t seen anything when he tore his shirt? How could he have thought they wouldn’t ever find out? He should have been more careful, he should have seen that they were suspicious, that they were figuring it out…

He didn’t know when he walked into the bathroom, but he soon found himself taking off his clothes and stepping into the shower. He turned on the water, unaware of how hot it was as it poured over his body. It was only after a while of staring into nothing that he realised how red his skin was and how scalding the water was, but he didn’t change it. The heat was actually distracting, the pain helping to turn his thoughts away from everything that had happened. 

He didn’t know how long he stood there, but after a while he began to notice that the water had cooled, so he turned the water off and stepped out of the shower. He dried himself with a towel then went into his bedroom, where he got into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. He turned off all the lights and crawled under the sheets and blankets, laying his head on the pillow. For a long time he just stared into the darkness. 

Finally, after a long while, he curled up and began to cry.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to every who has commented and left kudos or bookmarked this story! All of your comments have been so wonderful, and very supportive. I've appreciated them all very, very much!

Mike woke to the sound of pattering rain against his window.

            He stared at the raindrops that obscured the window, allowing only enough light through to know that the world outside was as bleak and dismal as he felt right now. He didn’t know how long he laid there underneath his blankets, a warm and encompassing sanctuary that he had no desire to leave. It wasn’t until the alarm on his phone went off that he remembered about having to go to work. Today was the day they were supposed to meet Jacob Davis, a new client, and see if he would be willing – .

            No. No, he didn’t want to do that. Not today. He didn’t want to get out of bed, get dressed, and go to work. He didn’t want to see Louis, Donna, or Harvey. He didn’t want to talk to clients or talk to lawyers – he didn’t want to talk to anybody.  

            It felt like a giant rock had come and placed itself on his chest during the night, making it difficult to breathe and feeling like he was slowly being crushed beneath its weight. He didn’t want to get up, he didn’t want to move, he didn’t want to do anything. He just wanted to stay here forever, and if the earth decided to swallow him up, it would only be too welcome.

            Bodies, however, don’t care for such desires, and soon Mike found himself leaving his bed to stumble into the bathroom. He returned a moment later and made his way into the kitchen, his arms wrapped tightly around his sides as he stared at the various cereals and breads on the counter, wondering what he should make. After a while he grabbed a couple of bagels and placed them in the toaster, pressing the slider down as they began to cook. He stared unseeingly until they popped up, and he mechanically took them and put them on a plate.

            He ate his breakfast in silence, thinking of nothing but chewing and swallowing. The rain continued to beat against the window, never ceasing. Mike finished his food and set the plate down on the small coffee table in front of him, placing his arms around his torso again and leaning back against the couch.

            He wasn’t sure what to do now. He knew he was supposed to be at work, was supposed to be there twenty minutes ago, but the thought of seeing Harvey and Donna, of them knowing that he… what he did – they would want to talk about it, they would look at him and call him a freak, call him abnormal, because who on earth willingly disfigured themselves? Who in their right mind actually took up a knife, and instead of using it to cut bread they used it to cut their wrists, instead? As well as their arms, their shoulders, their waist, their legs…

            Mike brought his feet up onto the couch, curling into himself. He wasn’t going to work. And if that meant Harvey would fire him, then so be it. This life was never meant to last, anyway. He was a fake from the beginning, and nothing built on the foundation of lies and deceit could ever last for long. And if it meant that he never had to confront Harvey or Donna again, he’d only too gladly accept his loss.

           

                                                                        ***

            Donna stared worriedly at the clock on the wall; it was quarter-to-nine, and Mike still hadn’t arrived. He was supposed to be here at eight; he and Harvey were scheduled to meet a new client and discuss his upcoming trial over brunch. But Mike hadn’t shown up, and if he remained absent for the next fifteen minutes, Harvey would have to do the meeting alone. Usually she would have called Mike by now, berating him for being late and harassing him to get here as fast as he could, but Harvey hadn’t given her the go-ahead, and so the phone remained untouched. Her eyes fell from the clock to the man behind the desk, who was leaned over his papers, looking for all the world to be focused on his work. But Donna knew better than the world.

                                                                        –

            Harvey stared at the clock on his computer, not wanting to accept that Mike was not coming in. He still had time, he’d certainly been later than this before – but Harvey knew that his absence today was no accident. He closed his eyes, trying to gather himself and focus his thoughts.

            Mike was cutting himself. Whether he wanted to believe it or not, it was the truth. No matter how much he wished that the night before had just been a very bad dream, reality wouldn’t change. Mike wouldn’t walk in here, a big, stupid smile on his face, making some stupid joke or some lame excuse as to why he was late. Because Mike was cutting himself, and he knew that they knew. And Harvey suddenly felt like he’d been cast out to sea, unable to swim and having no idea  which direction to go to get back to shore.

            When the clock struck nine, the door to his office quietly opened and closed. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

            “Should we call him?” asked Donna, standing in front of Harvey’s desk. He didn’t like that. He’d rather her sit on the couch farther away from him, so that maybe, just for a little longer, he could pretend that nothing was wrong.

            “No,” Harvey said at first, then stopped. “Do you think we should call him?” Because hell, for once he honestly didn’t know what first step they should take.

            “I think we should give him half an hour, then give him a call. I’ll just ask if he’s coming in, maybe mention the Davis case. I won’t… I won’t mention last night.”

            “Do you think he’ll go for it?”

            Donna bit her lip. “I don’t know. Maybe if we just act like everything is normal, that nothing is wrong, he’ll –.”

            “Except it’s not.”

            “Harvey –.”

            “It’s not, Donna. Mike is cutting himself, for God’s sake. We can’t just pretend like he isn’t doing it.”

            Donna’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Well then what do you propose we do, Harvey? Do you want me to call him and ask him to come to work so we can all talk about how he self-harms?”

            Harvey took a steadying breath. “No.”

            “Then what?”

            “We go to his apartment,” Harvey said after a moment. “If he doesn’t show up at work today, we’ll go to his place tonight and… talk.”

            “That’s not going to work.”

            It was Harvey’s turn to get annoyed. “Yeah? And why’s that?”

            “Because it’s only been a day! He’s probably still mad at us, and seeing us on his doorstep would be the last thing he wants!”

            “He’s obviously cutting himself for a reason, Donna, and the sooner we find out what that reason is the sooner we can put a stop to it, and then Mike will stop cutting and everything will go back normal.”

            Donna glared. “This isn’t about getting things back to normal, Harvey. It’s about getting Mike better and doing what’s best by _him_. Not doing what’s best for you.”     

            Harvey’s glare deepened. “You think I only care about myself? Seriously, Donna? You would really think that of me?”

            “No, I don’t, but Harvey – this isn’t some problem that simply needs to be _fixed_ , it doesn’t work that way –.”

            “Of course it’s a problem that needs to be fixed! What, do you think this is just some bad habit he picked up, like biting your nails? Someone’s done something to him, or said something, and we have to find out what it was and put a stop to it.”

            “You just don’t get it, Harvey. Mental health –.”

            “It’s got nothing to do with mental health! There’s a reason he’s cutting, we’ll find out what that reason is, fix it, and then he’ll stop.”

            “That is not –.”

            The phone began ringing at Donna’s desk, interrupting her. She glared at Harvey a moment longer, before turning around and walking out of the office. Harvey watched her as she took her seat behind her desk and picked up the phone, talking for a few seconds before hitting the intercom.

            “It’s Davis. He has a question about the trial.”

            Harvey let out a deep breath, then walked back around his desk and sat down, picking up the phone. He didn’t care what Donna said; they were going to Mike’s apartment tonight, and they were going to have it out. He’d make Mike tell him why he was doing it, and once he found that out they would fix the problem, and everyone could go back to work happy.

            He wouldn’t let himself believe otherwise.

 

                                                                        ***

            He’d lost track of how many new scars he’d carved into his skin. It had started out innocently enough; he’d picked up the knife off the counter, thinking he would just make a few cuts, just to calm himself and relax, to focus on something else than the humiliation he still felt from the day before. But then he kept going, the areas of clean, unmarked skin staring back at him, as though taunting him for having missed them, and soon blood was dripping steadily down his arm and onto the floor below.

            The pain felt like an old friend, welcome and wanted beyond all others. It was an oh-so familiar feeling that he found himself cherishing, wishing he could bottle it up and keep it stored safe for the days he needed it the most. The fact that others now knew of his secret only made him wish for the pain more, because maybe – just maybe – if he focused enough on this pain, he would forget the pain of everything else.

            The serrated edge of the knife tugged and pulled at his skin, forcing him to press it deeper until the skin gave way and allowed itself to break. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he couldn’t keep getting away with this, that Harvey and Donna would eventually come knocking on his door, breaking it down and demanding that he tell them everything. And he –.

            Mike’s thoughts were interrupted with the sound of his phone ringing beside him. The unexpected noise startled him and the knife that had been running across his arm slipped, digging in deeper than he intended. Blood began pooling faster and Mike let out a curse, absently grabbing a blanket beside him and pressing it against the wound. The exhaustion he’d been feeling all day suddenly intensified, and he stifled back a yawn, resisting the urge to close his eyes.

            The phone rang again. He wrapped the blanket around his arm twice before reaching and grabbing his phone, reading the caller ID. Mike tensed.

            Donna.

            His hand hovered over the screen for a moment, before he finally took a breath and answered it. No matter how angry he was with them, he didn’t want them to think he’d gone and done something worse than just cut himself. He wasn’t that far down the road.

            “Hello?”

            _“Mike? Oh thank God, I know you probably don’t want to hear from us, but when you didn’t answer your phone, I thought…”_

            Mike frowned, annoyed. “Just because I didn’t pick up on the first ring doesn’t mean there was a problem, Donna.”

            _“Mike, this is the sixth time I’ve called you.”_

            Mike stilled. His eyes glanced at the clock on the wall and was shocked to see it read 5:25pm. But… but he could have sworn it was only a little after 12pm. And this was the first call he’d received all day, he’d kept his phone with him, he hadn’t –.

            Mike’s eyes fell to the blanket that he had just wrapped around his arm, and he paused, before gently pulling it off. His heart skipped a beat when he saw that the blood – the blood that had been pooling rapidly just a moment ago – had stopped flowing, had stopped flowing a while ago, and was long since dried up. The blanket was soaked, much more than it should be if he’d only just grabbed it a moment –.

            _“…ike? Mike?! Mike, honey – are you there? What’s wrong?”_

            A wave of nausea fell over him as he realised what had happened. After he cut himself he must have fallen asleep, but because the wound hadn’t been properly taken care of, he… he could have… Mike gripped the blanket, suddenly realising the extent of the danger that he had just been in. And if the Donna hadn’t –.

            _“Mike!”_

            Mike swallowed, trying to focus his attention back on the phone. “Sorry, Donna. I was just… I forgot to do something, that’s all.”

            He could hear Donna breathe a sigh of relief. _“Mike, I know you don’t want to hear from us, but I just wanted to… to check on you and see if you were okay.”_

            “I’m fine, Donna.”

            _“Will you… will you be in tomorrow?”_

            Mike resisted the urge to give a snarky reply, but found he was too tired even if he wanted to. “I don’t know,” he said finally.

            _“Just… just don’t be too upset with us, please. We just want to help you, we care about you, we –.”_ He suddenly heard Donna gasp. _“Harvey!”_

            “What about him?”

            _“He – after you didn’t pick up on the fifth call, he left and went… he thought maybe something was wrong, so he decided to go see you at your apartment. Mike, I’m so sorry – I’ll call him right now and tell him that you’re okay.”_

            Mike looked down at the mess on his couch and a stab of fear shot through him. If Harvey came, if he saw – with all this blood, he’d think –.

            A knock sounded from the door.

            Mike swore and hastily told Donna not to bother, that Harvey was here, and made a quick goodbye before he hung up the phone and tossed it onto the coffee table in front of him. Just as he was about to grab the blood-sodden blanket, Harvey’s voice sounded from the door.

            _“Mike?”_

            Mike gripped the edge of the couch, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He could do this. He could be strong, he could be brave. He didn’t want to do this, but he had to. He _had_ to.

            Getting up off the couch, Mike made his way to the door, where Harvey was knocking once more.

            _“Mike!”_

            “Yeah, yeah.” Mike opened the door, making no attempt to stop himself from glaring at the other man.

            Harvey could feel his entire body slightly relax as he looked Mike up and down, and could see that he was still in one piece. He was still in his sweats and a t-shirt, most likely having never changed when he woke up. His forearms were turned away from him so that he couldn’t see any scars, and Harvey forced himself to not focus on them, pointedly staring at Mike’s face, instead.

            “You weren’t answering your phone, so I wanted to make sure you were… okay.”

            “Yeah, I was just talking to Donna, she said you were coming here. Well you don’t have to worry, I’m fine. I just fell asleep so I didn’t hear the phone, that’s all. So thanks for your concern, but you can go now.”           

            Harvey tried to keep his expression steady, not wanting to spark off another fight. He knew that Mike was still angry at them, at _him_ – and so it probably wouldn’t take a lot to get him mad again. So if he wanted to have any hope of having a decent conversation, he’d have to be as calm as he could be.

            Yes, because that was something he was _so_ good at.

            “Can I come in?” he asked at last. “We can… talk. Maybe watch some TV, or that Netflix you’re always going on about.”

            Mike gave him a suspicious look, as though debating the sincerity of the request. “Don’t you have work to do?”

            “Nothing that can’t be done tomorrow.”

            Mike didn’t know what to do. On the one hand he was still angry, still humiliated over what had happened; he didn’t want to talk to Harvey, had purposely planned today to _not_ talk to him, to have him look at him like he was a freak, try to sit him down and give him a long-winded talk about why what he was doing was wrong, how he should simply stop doing right then and there. But on the other hand, he was so, so tired… he didn’t want to fight, to argue. He didn’t even want to speak, he just wanted to crawl back into bed and go back to sleep. Hadn’t he only just gotten up a little while ago? What was Harvey doing here so early, anyway? Shouldn’t he be at work? Shouldn’t he be…

            Harvey watched as Mike’s eyes slid from his and focused on something behind him. Concern began to grow when all of a sudden Mike began to waver, and for a moment looked as though he were about to fall.

            “Mike? Mike!” Harvey grabbed Mike’s arm, steadying him, as the younger man’s eyes looked back to his, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

            “Harvey? What… what are you doing here? I” He paused. “I think I need to sit down.”

            Mike leaned against the doorway and with Harvey’s help, he slid down to the floor. Harvey gripped his arms worriedly, wondering what the heck was going on. Just a second ago he’d been fine, he was –.

            Mike’s eyes were beginning to close, and Harvey shook him, knowing that until he figured out what was going on, he didn’t want him falling asleep. “Stay awake, Mike. What’s wrong? How do you feel?” Harvey turned his wrist around in order to take his pulse, freezing when he saw all of the new cuts criss-crossing up and down his arm, some of which had reopened from Harvey’s grasp and were now beginning to bleed. One look at Mike’s other arm showed the same scene. Harvey bit his tongue, resisting the urge to yell. He pressed his fingers against Mike’s wrist, feeling for his pulse. He waited a few moments, then swore. “Shit.” Mike’s heart was beating way too fast, and his skin was beginning to feel clammy, a sheen of sweat reflecting off his forehead. Something was seriously wrong.         

            Harvey took out his phone from his pocket and quickly dialled 911. He spoke to the woman on the other end for a few moments and was assured that an ambulance was on its way. When he looked up, he was surprised to find Mike looking back at him, his eyes half closed and shining with unshed tears as he looked back down at his cut up wrist, which Harvey still had in his hand. Harvey swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Oh, kid,” he said. He placed his hand behind Mike’s head, bringing it to rest underneath his chin. “You’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out.” He closed his eyes. “We’ll figure this out.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thanks again for all your kudos and comments - they are so encouraging and I appreciate them so much!
> 
> This is a bit of a filler chapter, I'm afraid. It's also a bit short - sorry about that. I would have liked to have gone longer, but I wanted to start the next chapter in a particular way, so I had to end this one sooner. 
> 
> Thanks again, hope you enjoy the chapter!

            “Blood loss,” Harvey repeated. The doctor nodded.

            “Yes. The worst seems to have come from one particular cut, which was far deeper than the others. The other cuts he made, however, were big contributors as well; they led to prolonged blood loss, which caused his confusion and eventual unconsciousness. He’s lucky you found him when you did; he was already entering hypovolemic shock when he was brought in. If he had been left any longer, he’d have been in serious trouble.”           

            Harvey clenched his teeth, willing himself to stay calm. Donna was on her way, not having even asked whether Harvey thought she should come or not before leaving the office as soon as he’d called. Although he hadn’t wanted to upset her, he was glad she was coming. Her bedside manner was much better than his.

            “He’s not awake yet, but you can see him if you want,” the doctor said. Harvey nodded his thanks and the man left, leaving Harvey alone outside Mike’s room. The blinds were drawn, so Harvey couldn’t see in; he paused for a moment, taking a breath, before passing the threshold and walking inside.

            Mike was in a hospital gown, resting on his back beneath the thin, crisp hospital sheets. He was asleep with a heart monitor beeping loudly beside him, the cord running along the bed where it connected to his fingertip. His arms were covered with bandages, winding their way up until they disappeared beneath the gown’s sleeves. Mike was asleep.

            Harvey sat down on one of the plastic chairs, staring at Mike’s sleeping form. Resting his forehead in his hand for a moment and closing his eyes, he let out a deep sigh. He shook his head, running his hand through his hair.

            He had no idea what to do.

                       

                                                                                                                      ***

            The first thing he became aware of was someone’s hand touching his. It was soft and warm, holding his fingers with a gentle grip, but not too tight. Mike found himself enjoying the comfort it gave – it reminded him of his mother. Had she come back? Had she finally come back like he’d asked her to? Mike found himself wondering, found himself hoping – but when he opened his eyes he saw not his mother, but Donna. She was sitting beside his bed, clasping his hand in her own, her eyes staring off into the distance.

            Mike stared at her for a long time, wondering vaguely why she was sitting there and not behind her desk by Harvey’s office. He liked Donna, he thought to himself. She was like a big sister that he hadn’t ever realised he’d wanted; she bugged him, harassed him, looked out for him – she was his friend.

            But why was she here?

            “…onna?” He finally managed to utter. He watched as Donna jumped, her eyes glancing around until they finally landed on him, widening when they did.

            “Mike!” Donna let go of his hand for a moment, before quickly taking it again. “Oh Mike, we were so worried –.”

            “Wha –.” Mike coughed. “What’s going on? What are you doing here?”

            “You’re in the hospital, Mike. You’ve been here since yesterday evening.”

            Mike frowned. The hospital? But why –.

            Suddenly the fog in his brain seemed to clear and he blinked, memories of the day before slowly trickling in. He’d been in his apartment, he’d been there all day – why was he there? Why wasn’t he at work? – he’d been cutting, he remembered that much… but then why…?

            Mike groaned, shutting his eyes and turning away from Donna, as he suddenly remembered that she knew. She knew about the cutting; that’s why he hadn’t gone to work. He hadn’t wanted to face them, to face any of them, so he’d stayed home. He suddenly became aware that there was something on his arms, and he opened his eyes to see white bandages wrapped all the way around his wrists and up to his shoulders. When he moved he could also feel bandages along his thighs and abdomen. He glanced again to Donna, who was looking at him in undisguised concern, and he closed his eyes again, humiliation heating his neck.

            “Mike? Honey?” He felt Donna’s hand cup the side of his face, her thumb gently stroking his cheek. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?” Humiliation dissipated, only to be replaced with guilt. She shouldn’t be here, she shouldn’t have to worry about him; none of this was her fault, it was his – it was always his fault. He did this to himself, and any repercussions should be had by him and him only, not Donna, not Harvey –.

            Mike stopped. He looked around.

            Harvey. Where was Harvey? Why was he here with Donna and not –.

            Mike stopped, suddenly realising that he hadn’t even figured out yet why he was in the hospital. Looking back up at Donna, he gathered his words.

            “Why am I in… in the hospital?” he asked, the words feeling like tar against his tongue. He immediately wished he hadn’t asked, as Donna’s smile disappeared.

            “You… lost a lot of blood,” she said carefully, her hand falling away from Mike’s face. “You passed out, so we brought you here. The doctor says you’re fine, though! You just have to… well… you can leave later tonight, if you’re up to it.”

            Mike frowned; her story not making sense. “How did I… why did I lose blood?”     

            Mike watched as Donna bit her lip. “Harvey found–.”

            “What about me?”

            Both Donna and Mike turned to see Harvey standing in the doorway, two cups of coffee in his hands, looking at Mike in mild surprise. “Hey, so sleeping beauty is finally awake. If I had known all it would take was a kiss from Donna, I would have left the room long ago.”

            Harvey set the coffees down on a table near the window, pausing for just the briefest moment before grabbing a chair and bringing it closer to Mike’s bed. “How are you feeling?” he asked, sitting down. Mike didn’t know what to say; he still didn’t really know what was going on.

            “I’m… I’m fine,” he managed to say, not liking the looks that both Harvey and Donna were giving him. It was starting to come back to him, what had happened last night, and he was beginning to feel claustrophobic. But it wasn’t the walls of the room or even being in the hospital – it was Harvey and Donna’s presence, it was their faces looking down at him like he was some kind of mental patient, like he was a ticking time bomb waiting to go off –.

            “Mike?” Mike looked back up at Donna; he hadn’t realised he’d looked away. “Is there anything we can get you? Juice, water?” Mike swallowed, then shook his head. Donna bit her lip, glancing back at Harvey, then stood to her feet. “I think I’ll get you some water. I’ll be back.” She left the room.

            Mike felt a stab of annoyance; he said he didn’t want anything; why did she ask if she wasn’t going to even give him a choice? There was a long pause until Harvey finally spoke.

            “Now that Donna’s not here, how are you really feeling?”

            Mike turned back at him, trying to look like he wasn’t upset. From the expression on Harvey’s face, however, it wasn’t working. “I’d like to go home,” he said finally. Harvey frowned, and his eyes narrowed. Mike tensed, feeling the atmosphere in the room physically shift, as Harvey’s previously caring attitude was suddenly replaced with unbridled anger.

            “Do you know why you’re in here?” he asked. Mike wanted to look away, but found he couldn’t. He thought about the night before, but he only saw a few, scattered images. He’d been home all day after Harvey and Donna had… had found out, and he’d spent the day watching TV. He’d cut, he knew that, but he always did that, it was normal – especially after a night like the one before. He remembered talking to Donna, he thought it was on the phone – but then Harvey had shown up, and after that… after that…

            He heard Harvey take a deep breath. “You really don’t remember?” he asked. Mike shook his head.

            “Not… really. Bits and pieces. Were you at my apartment?”

            “Yes. You hadn’t shown up at work, so I wanted to… make sure you were alright.”

            It was an uncommonly caring thing for Harvey to say, and Mike felt that he should make some sort of sarcastic remark about it, but found that he was just too tired. Instead, he found himself wondering why Harvey had been there. Surely there was a better reason than the one he’d given.

            “Why did I…

            “When we were talking at your door, you passed out. I called the ambulance and they took you here. They said you’d lost nearly a fifth of your blood supply and were nearing hypovolemic shock.”

            Mike looked at him, confused, still not understanding how he’d lost the blood in the first place. “Why –.”

            “Damn it Mike, you cut yourself so badly that you nearly killed yourself! Don’t you get it?! If I hadn’t shown up, you’d have –.” Harvey broke off, standing to his feet and turning away as he tried to gather himself. Mike stared at him with wide eyes; no – had he… had he really? But he’d…

            “But I only… I only did a bit, I didn’t…” Mike trailed off, the words feeling heavy in his mouth; he had never spoken to someone about his cutting out loud before. In fact, he hadn’t ever talked about it to anyone before.

            “Yes, you did. You cut so much that you were losing blood all day; you basically just sat on your ass, bleeding out because you couldn’t handle the fact that we’d found out! What the hell is wrong with you, Mike?! How could you possibly think that cutting that much was a good idea – much less cutting yourself at all! Did you even stop to think that –.”

            “Harvey, shut up.”

            Both Harvey and Mike turned to the doorway, where Donna stood holding a styrofoam cup of water. She was glaring at Harvey with a look that would scare any man, but Harvey wasn’t having any of it.

            “No, Donna, he needs hear the truth. He can’t just go on doing this, he can’t go on cutting himself, putting himself in the damn hospital, just because he thinks it’s okay!”

            “Harvey, why don’t we talk outside?” Donna asked sternly.

            “No. I’m done here.” He picked up his jacket and walked towards the door, before abruptly stopping and turning on his heel back to Mike. “You know what? Fine. If you want to kill yourself, go ahead. See if anyone gives a shit.” He turned away angrily and disappeared through the door.

                                                                                                                               ***

            An hour later Donna walked into Mike’s room, stopping short when she saw him not only sitting up, but fully dressed, just finishing buttoning up his shirt.  
              “Mike!” she exclaimed, dropping her bag from the hospital gift shop on the ground and rushing over to his side. Mike didn’t look up as he pushed the last button through the hole of his shirt. “Mike, what are you doing?? You’re not supposed to be up yet, you have to lay back down –.”

            “You know, Donna, I’m a little tired of people telling me what to do.” He tossed the sheets that were still covering his legs to the side, gripping the edge of the bed as he stood to his feet. Donna looked on in worry.

            “Mike, I told you, don’t listen to Harvey – he was upset, he’s worried for you, he didn’t mean to say those things –.”

            “Donna,” said Mike, turning to face her. “There’s a reason I never told anyone that I – what I do. There was a _reason_. And now here we are, you guys both know, and all you do is treat me like I’m a fragile doll that’s about to break, or you yell at me and tell me it’s my fault. And I’m not putting up with it anymore.”

            Mike grabbed his wallet off the table, sticking it into his pocket and grabbing a few other things before walking past Donna and towards the door. Donna turned, her eyes following him as he went.

            “You’re really going to leave? Just like that?”

            Mike grabbed a few pieces of clothing off the bed that Donna had brought and stuffed them into a bag. “Yep.”

            “Does even a part of you think that maybe, just maybe, we’re only trying to help?”

            “You don’t want to help me, Donna. You just want me to stopping cutting myself. And besides, in the end, it’s none of your business.”

            “You’re our friend, Mike – that makes it our business.”

            “No, it doesn’t!” Mike turned, glaring at her. “If I want to cut myself, that’s _my_ business. If I want to break my own bones, that’s _my_ business. If I want to jump off a bridge, that’s _my_ business. Not yours, and certainly not Harvey’s.”

            It was Donna’s turn to glare. “You bet your ass it’s our business, Michael Ross. Do you honestly not realise what you mean to us? To me? To Harvey? Do you honestly think that if something happened to you, we wouldn’t be affected? That we’d just carry on going to work, acting like nothing had changed? Do you seriously _think_ that?”

            Mike clenched his teeth, but didn’t answer.    

            Donna continued. “For God’s sake, Mike – you’re our _brother_! Harvey would do anything for you! _I_ would do anything for you! Can’t you see that?!”

            “Then why does it matter if I cut, huh?! Why the hell does it matter? It doesn’t affect you, it doesn’t hurt you –.”

            “It matters because it means something is _wrong_. You may have forgotten what that is, but something happened, Mike, and for some reason you think that hurting yourself will make it better. You’re right – it doesn’t affect us. We don’t physically hurt when you cut yourself; hell, we probably don’t even know most of the time when you do it. But that doesn’t make it right. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter. It just means you’re damn good at hiding it.”

            Silence followed, and the two stared at each other for a long time before Mike turned away. Donna knew from the anger in his face and the redness around his eyes that he was still upset. Finally Mike grabbed the last of his things and started walking out the door.

            “Are you going to come into work tomorrow?” Donna asked tersely.

            “No.”

            “Will you be coming back to work, ever?”

            Mike paused for only a moment, before continuing down the hallway, Donna just barely hearing his response as he went. “I don’t know.”

           


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all - Thanks again to all who have left kudos and comments - it’s been great encouragement! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter - hopefully it's not too bad.
> 
> Oh - and I know that I've probably got Mike's age wrong, but I don't think it's too big a deal (so please don't kill me if it's wrong).

           He didn't show up for work the next day. Or the day after that. Mike barely noticed the rest of the week go by, choosing instead to lose himself to video games, reading, grocery shopping, and every other normal thing a person who’s life was _not_ completely wrapped up in their job did. Donna texted him once a day to see, Mike figured, if he was still alive, but that was alright. While he still felt embarrassed and upset that Donna knew what he did and was now involved in this whole mess, he wasn’t really angry with her. He had to admit, he’d rather be treated like glass than be yelled at. No, it was _Harvey_ that he didn’t want to see. It was Harvey who grabbed his arm and lifted his sleeve, who humiliated him, who wouldn’t back off when he told him to get away, who treated him like he was some sort of child that needed to be reprimanded and set right. It was Harvey who yelled at him, who got angry with him, who figured that all he needed to do was “stop” and then everything would go back to normal. Because Harvey believed that he did this for fun, that he thought this was just a game. And that was exactly why Mike had never wanted him to know – because he wouldn’t understand. Because he _couldn’t_ understand. But he did know. And there was nothing Mike could do about it.

            It was Sunday morning, a pale blue sky and a crisp, cool air hovering over the water of the park’s lake, a blanket of dew still laying across the grass. Mike was sitting on the park bench wearing a light spring jacket, his arms wrapped tightly around his middle as he stared at the water lapping against the shore; his eyes were watching, but his thoughts were far, far away.

            He could leave the city. He had nothing to tie him here, no friends to keep him and no family to care for. He could pack up his things, leave the city, move somewhere isolated, somewhere safe. He could get a job as a bike-messenger again, or heck, just a regular job behind a counter at a local grocery store. It didn’t matter; all that mattered was getting as far away from here as he could – away from Harvey, away from Donna, away from this life that he had somehow, unintentionally made for himself. Or that was given to him. Because really, in the end, he’d never had any control over his life in any way whatsoever. His parents had been taken from him, his shot at a university degree had been taken from him, his friends and his grandmother had left him, and the job he now had had only been given to him by chance; he hadn’t earned it, he certainly didn’t deserve it – and by all means he shouldn’t have it now. So if he could just leave, start anew, start fresh, he could –.

            “Can I sit here?”

            Mike blinked. He looked around until his eyes landed on a small bundle of jacket, scarf, and gloves, which was staring up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

            “Can I sit here?” the little girl asked again, her eyes never leaving Mike’s.

            “Uh…” Mike began, looking around for the girl’s parents, but no one could be seen in the immediate vicinity. They were alone. “Sure,” he said at last, moving over slightly as the girl began scrambling up onto the bench. She grunted and huffed as she climbed up and turned around, squirming and wriggling until she finally settled, her small shoes hanging off the edge of the bench, her legs immediately beginning to swing.

            Mike scanned the area again for any adults that looked like they had lost a child, but again, there were none. The two sat in silence, neither saying a word or looking at each other; Mike was just beginning to relax when the girl began to squirm, then spoke.

            “Are you cold?” she asked.

            Mike glanced down at her and shifted; he had never been that great with children. “No,” he replied. “Not really.” He noticed that while the spring jacket she wore was fairly thick, she was still shivering from the cold. He had to admit, it was a bit crisp out, a slight breeze drifting through the air and nipping at any exposed skin it could find.

            “I’m cold,” she stated, then went back to swinging her legs. Another long moment passed before she once again turned to Mike. “Are you sure you’re not cold?” she asked again. Mike did his best to put on a smile.

            “Pretty sure.”

            Another pause. Then, “My name’s Brooklyn. What’s yours?”          

            “Um… Mike.”

            “My cousin’s name is Mike,” she said, obviously pleased at finding someone with the same name. “But everyone calls him Mikey. He’s three. Do people call you Mikey?”

            _My parents did, before they died. But no one’s called me that for years._ “No. Just Mike.”

            “Oh.” She seemed somewhat put out, but the disappointment quickly left as she spoke again. “I’m five years old, but I’ll be six in…” She silently counted on her hand, before holding up seven fingers. “This many months. How old are you?”

            “I’m twenty-eight,” he said absently, looking around the park. Didn’t this girl have any parents? If no one showed up in the next five minutes, he’d have to start looking for them.

            The girl’s – Brooklyn’s – eyes widened. “Wow…” she said. “You’re _really_ old!”

            Mike made a face. He wasn’t _that_ old.

            “You’re almost as old as my mom and dad!” she continued. “They’re forty.” Twenty-eight was nearly as old as forty? Well that sure was a morale booster.

            “Where are you parents?” Mike finally asked. Had they actually lost her, or had she run away from them?

            Brooklyn’s shoulders slumped and she looked away, kicking her legs in the air. “I left them. They were being mean to me.”

            Mike tensed. “How were they being mean?”  

            Brooklyn pursed her lips. “They wouldn’t let me have any cookies before bed last night, and when I said I wanted to play, they said I couldn’t and that I had’ta ‘go to bed’. I don’t like them. They always tell me what to do and they never let me do anything that _I_ want to do. So when they were putting on their shoes to go to church, I ran away.”

            Mike breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He wasn’t sure how he would have handled it if her parents had been ‘mean’ for any other reason. “I think they’re just trying to do what’s best for you. Lots of cookies before bed sometimes make you sick.”

            “No they don’t, I’ve done it before! I slept fine!”

            _Great_. Mike tried again. “Well, it can. And they just didn’t want that to happen to you.”

            “Well do _your_ parents make you go to bed early while they still get to stay up?”

            Mike swallowed, and it was a long moment before he managed to reply. “They used to. I didn’t like it either, but they… they knew what was best for me. If they hadn’t, I would have been tired and grumpy all day.”

            Brooklyn gave him a look that said she didn’t quite believe him, but seemed to accept it nonetheless. “Where are they now?” she asked, her legs swinging once more. “Are they trying to make you go to church when you want to play, too?”

            Mike swallowed again, but the lump in his throat just wouldn’t seem to go away. “No,” he said at last. “They’re not… they’re not around anymore.”

            “Where are they?” Mike felt a stab of annoyance. Wouldn’t she just stop with the questions? But when he looked down at her and saw her big, blue eyes staring back up at him, the annoyance fell away. He knew that her questions were asked only out of innocence.

            “They… died,” he said at last. “A long time ago.”

            Brooklyn looked away. “Oh,” she said quietly. Then after a moment, “My grandpa died. My mom was really sad. I was sad, too. My birthday was in only one week, and we were going to have the party at my grandpa’s house on the farm. We had to have it at my house, instead. I was really sad. It’s not fun losing someone you love.”

            Mike felt his chest tighten and the lump in his throat grow. “No, it’s not.”

            The two fell into silence once more, until Brooklyn shivered again. Mike instantly felt bad for forgetting that she was cold, and he quickly took off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders. The jacket was probably as big as she was, and it nearly covered her entire body, but when Brooklyn looked up at him, she had a big smile across her face.

            “Thank you,” she said, trying to put her hands through the overlarge sleeves. Mike quickly kneeled down in front of her, holding the jacket up for her to slide her arms into. He zipped it up and pulled the strings on the bottom so that it would fit just a little better. As he was finishing, two small hands came to rest gently on his arms, and Mike froze. He’d forgotten that his arms were now bare. The little hands carefully stroked the scars that littered his arm, both old and new, her fingers like feathers brushing against his skin.

            “What happened?” she asked. Mike bit his lip, unable to find the strength to look up at her. “Did you get hurt?”

            Mike didn’t know what to say. Yes, he’d been hurt. He’d been hurt a long time ago, and the hurt had never really stopped. His parents’ death, his growing up as a strange, too-smart kid with an eidetic memory, his getting accepted into university, only to get kicked out… To getting involved with drugs and drug deals, to losing his life-long friends and then his grandmother… To be completely and utterly alone, with no one but your co-workers to know you existed.

            Yeah, he hurt. Every day.

            “Um, yes,” Mike said at last. After another moment he made to move away, but before he could, Brooklyn’s face tilted down and she pressed a soft, gentle kiss against his arm, before turning and doing the same to the other. Mike stilled, and his breath caught in his throat. Time seemed to stop, until Brooklyn leant back, gently caressing Mike’s arms one last time before letting them go. Mike brought his arms back, unconsciously wrapping them lightly around his middle, and looked up to see Brooklyn beaming at him with a great, big smile.

            “My mommy says that kisses are the best for hurts. Whenever I get hurt, she puts on my favourite band-aid – Simba from the _Lion King_ – and kisses it. It still hurts, but it feels a lot better.”

            Mike sat back on his heels, biting his lip once more. Finally he swallowed, took a deep breath, and rose to his feet. “We should go find your parents,” he said. “They’re probably worried about you.”

            Brooklyn crossed her arms in petulance, but after a moment she hopped off the bench, standing in front of Mike with her hand raised. “Okay,” she said. For the briefest moment Mike didn’t know what to do, until he finally realised that she wanted to hold his hand. He gave her a smile, then took her small hand in his own.

                                                                                                                             –

            The two walked around the park for a while, until Mike finally said that it would probably be best to go back to her house; so they walked a few blocks until they arrived at a small house where a man and woman were standing outside, panicked expressions on their faces as they talked to a police officer who was writing with a pen in his notebook. Brooklyn hugged her arms tighter around Mike’s neck from where she had earlier scrambled into his arms.  
            “Will they be mad at me?” she asked quietly. Mike gave her a gentle squeeze back.

            “Maybe a little. But that’s only because they love you.”

            After a moment the woman – Brooklyn’s mother – looked up, and a strangled cry could be heard as she suddenly dashed towards them, and Mike quickly relinquished the small girl into her arms as her mother began to cry.

            Brooklyn’s father quickly appeared, gently grabbing Brooklyn’s head and giving it a kiss, before shooting Mike a wary glance.

            “She was in the park by the lake,” Mike quickly explained. “Said something about cookies and not being able to stay up and play?” The wary look on the man’s face quickly disappeared, replaced with gratitude and relief. He quickly reached out his hand and grabbed Mike’s, shaking it.

            “Thank you,” he said. His wife pulled away from her daughter, giving Mike a grateful smile, tinged with tears.

            “Thank you so much,” she said. “Thank you for finding our baby-girl.”

            “Well, to be honest, she sort of found me. I was just sitting on a bench when she asked if she could sit, too. I’m Mike Ross, by the way.”

            “James Randall,” the man said. “And my wife, Victoria. And this is Brooklyn, as I’m sure you know.” Brooklyn peeked out from her mother’s neck and gave Mike a small smile.

            “Yes,” Mike said, returning the smile with his own. “I know.”

 

                                                                                                                          ***

            Harvey heard his cell phone vibrate against the counter and he walked over to it, looking at the caller ID. He stilled when he saw the name.

            Mike.

            Harvey’s thumb pressed _answer_ quicker than he had time to think.

            “Hello?”

            _“Harvey?”_

            “Yeah.”

            _“I just… I just wanted to tell you that… that I’ll be coming into work tomorrow. If my job’s still waiting for me?”_

            Harvey closed his eyes, and let out a quiet breath of relief. “Of course it is. Mike –.”

            _“Harvey –.”_

            The two paused, then Harvey jumped in. “I was an ass,” he said. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

            _“I wasn’t exactly being helpful, either.”_

            “Well, I could have handled it better. Or so Donna tells me.”

            _“Yeah, well – she’s right.”_ Harvey hoped that it was a smile he was hearing in Mike’s voice.

            Harvey smiled, but it soon fell away. “You know, Mike… this doesn’t… change things. We still have to talk about this.”

            He could hear Mike take a deep breath. _“I know.”_

            “But you’ll still be in tomorrow?”      

            _“Yes, Harvey.”_ Harvey smiled at the exasperation he heard in Mike’s voice.

            “Good. Be there at 8.”

            And Harvey hung up.

                                                                                                                        –

 

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!
> 
> Sorry for the long wait for this chapter. Between finishing exams and moving back home for the summer, things got a bit hectic. I also had no idea what to do for this chapter, so that didn't help things either. Thanks for waiting! Hopefully you'll enjoy it. 
> 
> Thanks again to all who left kudos! Your support is a very significant motivator and encourager!

Mike was on time the next morning; more than on time, really – he was actually early. Donna knew something was off the moment she saw him; he was standing too rigid, his smile was too set. His eyes betrayed his nervousness, nervousness that Donna wished he didn’t feel he had to have, but knew that given the situation, she really couldn’t expect anything else. Harvey had texted her last night, a brief message telling her that Mike would be at work the next day, and that everything seemed “good”. She knew that “good” didn’t actually mean _good_ , but it was better than what had been for the past while. But despite the uneasiness, Donna was determined to treat everything like normal.

            “Good morning Mike,” she said, glancing up briefly from her computer as she typed. “Harvey’s in his office. You guys have a meeting with Henrickson at noon.” Mike gave her a quick thanks, then proceeded to open the door and walk into the room.

                                                                                                                      –

            Harvey was nervous, but he wasn’t about to show it. He wasn’t exactly sure what to expect; he hadn’t seen Mike since he’d left the hospital after chewing him up and spitting him out – he regretted that, now – and he’d barely spoken to him over the week that he’d been away. Donna, as always, had been his lifesaver, taking the initiative to contact Mike numerous times and make sure he was okay. They’d had long conversations about the whole thing, mostly made up of Harvey venting his frustrations and asking why they couldn’t just do something to fix it, followed by Donna trying to explain that issues like these don’t just “get fixed” like a broken machine, that there were often multiple reasons for self-harm, some going back deep into a person’s life, and that as a result it would take a long time to heal. Harvey listened the best he could and agreed that when Mike did come back – because Donna was sure he would – he wouldn’t yell or get angry, because – as Donna frequently stated – “that bullshit only makes things ten times worse, never better”.

            So today Harvey was going to be on his “best behaviour”, even if he was still frustrated and upset over the whole thing, and even if he was still angry; because honestly, why hadn’t he seen it? How could he have not seen that Mike was upset, that he was hurting and as a result he was hurting himself –.

            “Good morning, Harvey.”

            Harvey looked up, surprised to see Mike; it was earlier than when he usually came in, and he hadn’t even heard him open the door.

            “Hey,” he replied, carefully setting down his file. “You ready for the meeting with Henrickson? He just called, he wants to push the meeting up to ten. You good with that?”

            Mike nodded. “Anything you want me to work on till then?”

            “Donna already put some files on your desk, so if you wouldn’t mind going through them, that’d be great.”

            “Sure.” Mike offered a small smile before he turned and walked out the door.

            Harvey immediately felt like an idiot _. “If you wouldn’t mind”?_ _Really?_ He’d been so concerned with making sure that he treated Mike like normal, that he overcompensated and basically asked the kid if he felt like working at all. Everything was so tense right now, and that Mike had even come in of his own volition felt like a miracle in and of itself, and for Harvey to mess it up by acting like he was a porcelain doll was the last thing any of them needed.

            “So what’s your game plan?”

            Harvey looked up and saw Donna standing in front of him. He never seemed to hear when she came in anymore. Did the woman walk on air, or something?

            “What game plan?”

            “THE  game plan. Don’t be obtuse, Harvey.”

            Oh, but sometimes it was so much easier to be. Harvey looked back down at his files, grabbing a few and putting them to the side, sorting which ones he’d need to bring with him to the meeting.

            “Harvey.”       

            “I don’t know, Donna,” Harvey said tersely. “I can’t have a game plan for everything we do with the kid. I figured we’d just go to the meeting and take it from there.”

            “You think he’s up to it?”

            “He cuts himself, Donna; it’s not exactly great, but it’s not like he’s now suddenly incapable of doing anything. He’ll be fine.”         

            Donna paused for a long moment, before saying, “He has no one else, Harvey. He has no one else but us. If we let him off the hook with this, if we just ignore it –.”

            “We’re not ignoring it, Donna.” Harvey gathered the files and stood to his feet, walking over to where his briefcase lay open on the couch and placing the files inside. “But we can’t stop the world from turning while we fix it –” Harvey rolled his eyes at Donna’s look, “while we _deal_ with it, so there’s no point in trying. Besides, you’re the one who keeps saying these things take time, right?”

            “Yes they do, but I know you, Harvey. And I know Mike. If there’s a way for you two to ignore an unwanted problem, you’ll do it.”

            “I’m the best closer in the city; you think that comes from ignoring problems?”

            “I’m talking about _personal_ problems, Harvey. Don’t be an ass.”

            Harvey sighed. After a moment he walked over to Donna, resisting the urge to give her a hug. “Everything will work out, Donna,” he said quietly. “He came back to work on his own, that’s a good sign. I can mention something later, but right now we have to focus on work. He knows we know, so right now all we can do is wait for him to come to us. The last few times we tried to make him talk, it didn’t exactly end well.”

            Donna sniffed, and Harvey could see a shimmer of tears against her eyes.

            “When did you become the rational one?” she asked, laughing lightly.

            “Well you weren’t doing it, so someone had to step in. This place needs at least one sane person in it.”

            Donna chuckled and started to walk out of the room, when she paused and turned around. “You’ll make sure to tell him he can talk to either of us?” she asked. “I’d tell him myself, but I’ve been texting him all week, so I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to hear anything from me anymore.”       

            “Yes, I’ll tell him. But I’m not getting out my guitar and singing ‘kumbaya’. That can be Louis’ job.”

            Donna rolled her eyes with a smile and closed the door behind her.

 

                                                                                                                 ***

            The meeting with Henrickson went by more smoothly than Harvey could have possibly hoped for. He and Mike had fallen into their old rhythm so easily that it was as though nothing had ever happened to disrupt it. Henrickson had agreed to hand over some of his company’s files to aid in the trial, Harvey and Mike agreed to pay him a bit more money, and both parties had parted relatively pleased. The tension had eased after that, and Harvey and Mike celebrated their success by heading out for lunch to the local pizza place. They’d both returned to the office happier than when they’d left, and for a moment everything felt as though nothing had ever changed.

            It was six in the evening by the time that Donna’s voice rang through Mike’s desk phone, telling him to bring the files he’d been working on to Harvey’s office so that they could all end the day and go home. Mike quickly packed up his things and headed down the hallway, his steps lighter then they’d been in a long time.

            Both Donna and Harvey were in the room by Harvey’s desk; the sun was just beginning to set over the New York skyline, lighting up the room in a soft glow. Donna and Harvey were talking together, and a twinge of panic suddenly shot through Mike, the image looking far too similar to the “talks” they’d had before in this office than he liked. Before he could have time to properly worry, however, Donna looked up at him and gave him a smile, picking up her jacket from Harvey’s desk and walking over to him.

            “See you tomorrow, Mike,” she said, and before Mike could even register what she was doing, she’d planted a quick kiss on the side of his cheek. She looked like she wanted to say more, but she just gave him another smile instead, and walked out the door. Before Mike could say anything, Harvey spoke.

            “I’ve learned not to ask. I suggest you do the same.”

            Mike turned back to face Harvey, who had his jacket hanging off his arm and was picking up his briefcase with the other. “So we’re meeting with Henrickson again tomorrow to pick up the papers?” Mike asked.

            Harvey nodded. “Yep. He should be here around nine. I’m gonna be busy with another client, though, so you’ll have to take care of it. That all right with you?”

            Mike could hear the hidden question underneath, of Harvey actually asking, _can you handle it?_ While Mike didn’t want to be treated like glass, didn’t want to be treated any differently than before, he knew that, despite what he wanted, things weren’t the same as before. They couldn’t be. And with everything that had happened – what he did, the way he reacted when Harvey and Donna found out – he could understand why Harvey would want to make sure he was up to working on his own. He didn’t much like it, but he understood.

            “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he answered, giving a small smile to show he wasn’t offended. Harvey’s expression eased, and the two left the room, Harvey flicking off the lights as they went.

            “You still driving that bike of yours?” Harvey asked as they walked down the hallway.

            “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Mike replied with a grin. The two passed the room where Mike’s desk sat, the computer screen shining brightly in the darkness. Mike stopped as he suddenly realised he hadn’t shut his computer down. “I forgot to turn my computer off,” he said with a sigh.

            “Well I’d wait for you, but I’m actually meeting someone right now. So I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Harvey.

            “Yeah, all right,” Mike replied, making his way into the darkened room.

            “Hey Mike?”

            Mike stopped in front of his computer, grabbing the mouse.

            “Yeah?”

            There was a brief pause, then, “If you ever need to talk, my door’s always open.”

            “You actually just closed it, Harvey.”

            “My door at _home_ , you idiot.” Mike grinned, and Harvey rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to say something nice, and you’re not making it easy.”

            “Sorry,” Mike said. “I forgot how difficult being nice is for you.”

            Harvey shook his head, resisting the urge to smile. “But seriously, Mike. If you need anything, just… call. Or come over, or whatever.”

            Mike’s grin softened into a smile. “Thanks Harvey,” he said, and Harvey left.

            Mike quickly hit a few buttons on his computer, saving a few last-minute files before shutting the computer off. He grabbed his things just as the computer shut down, and he made his way out of the room and down the hallway. He was just about to turn to head towards the elevators when suddenly a voice sounded behind him.

            “Mr. Ross?”

            Mike halted, quickly turning around to see Jessica standing outside her office, looking at him with an unreadable expression that still managed to instantly make Mike nervous.

            “Yes?” he said.           

            “Could you come into my office for a moment?”

            Mike swallowed, but quickly followed the woman through the door and into the room.

            “Would you like something to drink?” she asked, though Mike couldn’t see anything on her desk. “Or maybe some supper? You know what, let’s just order in a big steak dinner from one of the nearby five-star restaurants, shall we? Which place is your favourite?”

            Mike stood completely still, confused. “I’m sorry, what?” he asked.

            “Oh I’m sorry,” Jessica said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “Was there maybe another food you wanted to eat? Because we could get it catered to you, whatever you like. You already seem to think we do that, anyway.”

            Now Mike was really confused; he knew that Jessica was pissed, but he didn’t know why.

            “I’m sorry, but what are you talking about?”

            “Well I just figured that since you took the entire week off last week, never bothered to tell your boss and never answered your phone, that you had somehow got it into your head that we here at Pearson-Hardman make a habit of catering to our associates’ every whim and desire. I didn’t want you to feel as though we were behaving sub-standard.”

            Mike frowned. “Jessica –.”

            “Ms. _Pearson_ , to you.”

            Mike bit back a huff. “ _Ms_. _Pearson_ ,” he said. “The reason I took last week off was because I had… I had some personal issues that I needed to deal with, and I –.”

            “Were your personal issues life-threatening?” Jessica interrupted.

            Mike was taken aback. “No, but –.”

            “Was someone in your family dying?”

            Mike’s eyes narrowed. “No, but –.”

            “Then whatever it was, you could have dealt with it on _your_ _own time_. Many kids your age would _die_ to get a position as an associate here, and _they’ve_ actually done the work to do it. You should be thanking _God_ that you’re here, instead of acting like you own the place. Do I make myself clear?”

            Mike fought to keep his breathing controlled and ignore the suddenly loud thumping of his heartbeat in his ears. “Yes, Ms. Pearson, I understand and I’m sorry, but I –.”

            “I don’t want your _excuses_. People here depend on each other to get our work done. We are a team – and when you treat that team like garbage, everyone pays for it. Do you understand? Do you know how many times Harvey needed your help last week? So many meetings would have gone smoother if he’d actually had his associate doing _his job_. Since you weren’t there, he had to pull one of the other associates to do your work, and they ended up nearly botching the _entire thing_. We can’t keep paying for your mistakes, Ross.”

            Mike couldn’t help but be surprised at the revelation. Harvey hadn’t said anything about what Jessica had said, he hadn’t even texted him, telling him what was happening. All he got were texts from Donna asking if he were okay. They were needing help, they needed _his_ help, and all he’d done was sit at home feeling sorry for himself, doing the very thing that everyone was so upset over in the first place –.

            “Do you understand, Mike?” Jessica asked. “Do something like that again, and you’re out of here. I don’t care what Harvey says.”

            Mike swallowed, and nodded his head. “Yes.”

            “Good. Now go home.”

 

                                                                                                                        ***

            Mike quickly left the room and headed to the elevators. Soon he was out of the building and riding his bike, forcing himself to calm down as he pedalled down the familiar path to home.

He walked into his apartment, closing the door silently behind him, standing silently for a long moment in the darkness. After a minute he turned on the light and made his way to the couch, where he deposited his messenger bag and coat.

            Jessica’s words swam through his head like a shark, cruel and relentless, circling around his mind ceaselessly, replaying the conversation like a broken record – replaying everything he wanted nothing more than to forget.

            She was right. He’d been selfish, incredibly selfish. It was his fault he cut himself, not Harvey and Donna’s; they’d only wanted to help him, like any normal person would. Heck, Harvey had even taken him to the hospital when he’d cut too much, and how did he repay him? He got angry and skipped work for a week, not asking permission and not telling anyone where he’d gone.

            His arm itched. Mike scratched it absently with his hand, glancing at the clock on the wall and vaguely thinking that he should be making supper. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a pot from the cupboard, filling it with water; he’d make spaghetti tonight, he thought. He went to the drawer and opened it, taking out a knife to cut the added ingredients for the sauce. He started to take out the ingredients from the fridge when he stopped, his eyes catching the edge of the knife as it reflected the light from above. It wasn’t a serrated knife, the kind he usually used to cut, but the shimmer off the edge made it attractive nonetheless, and besides, his arm just wouldn’t stop itching.

            Mike bit his lip, his grip tightening on the handle. The urge to cut was stronger than it had been in a long time; he wasn’t an idiot – he knew why he wanted to do it, despite the fact that the cutting itself was the reason everything had been going wrong in his life right now.

            Jessica had made him feel so small; had made him feel as though he were the worst person in the world, had made him feel like an idiot. The voice in the back of his mind agreed with her, saying it was merely confirmation of what had already long been known, that he deserved all the tongue-lashings he’d been getting from everyone, because no matter how hard he tried to change, no matter how hard he tried to be a better person than he was, he still failed. He was worthless. He was worthless and they knew it, and he knew it, and-.

            Mike blinked suddenly aware that the knife, which had been by his side only a moment ago, was now pressed against his forearm, ready to do what it had done so many times before. Ready to quell the itch that wouldn’t leave, ready to punish him for all he deserved, ready to take the pain in his heart and place it on his arm instead, which could handle it far better than his heart ever could. Mike took a breath, pressed the edge more forcefully against his skin, and…

            Stopped.         

            Mike stood only for a moment, the knife held in the air, before he placed it back on the counter with a clatter. He walked back into the living room and towards his messenger bag, reaching in and taking out the phone that lay inside. He opened up his contacts list, and a few moments later his thumb was hovering over Harvey’s name and the small phone icon beneath it. He hesitated, wondering if Harvey really meant what he’d said, if he’d actually say ‘yes’, or if he’d get mad at him for calling and tell him off. It took a few, long minutes for Mike to make up his mind, before he finally pressed the call-button and brought the phone to his ear.

            _“Hello?”_

            “Hey,” Mike said, trying to keep his voice from wavering. He’d been sure a moment before, but now…

            _“Hey,”_ Harvey replied. _“What’s up?”_

            “Are you… I mean… I know  you said you were going to a meeting, but I was wondering if maybe… you were at home?”

            There was a pause, then, _“Yeah, I’m at my place. My date for dinner cancelled so I decided to pick up and eat alone on my couch like a regular stilted man. Something the matter?”_

            “I was just… I ran into a bit of trouble on the way home, and I was just wondering if maybe – maybe I could… come over? I know you don’t like having lots of company, but I just thought –.”      

            _“What kind of trouble? Did someone try to mug you? Are you okay? See, I told you your bike was a hazard – you should be driving to work, or better yet, have someone else drive you – there’s no reason you shouldn’t –.”_

            “No, Harvey, no, I’m fine. I didn’t get mugged. I just… I had a talk with… with Jessica, that’s all. And I thought maybe if you weren’t doing anything, I could –.”

            _“Jessica? When did you talk with Jessica? What did she say?”_

            “I –.”

            _“You know what, never mind. Of course you can come over. Do you want me to send the car to pick you up? He can be there in twenty minutes.”_

            “No, no, that’s fine; I’ll just take a taxi. But thanks.”

            _“Don’t mention it. See you in a bit.”_

 

                                                                                                                      ***

            Mike arrived a half-hour later, and soon he was sitting on Harvey’s couch and being handed a steaming cup of hot-coffee.

            “So what did Jessica say?” Harvey asked, sitting on the chair beside the couch. “And don’t leave anything out.”

            Mike felt like a schoolboy tattling on the mean teacher to his parent, but the look that Harvey had was the one he only gave when he was determined to get answers – or determined to close a case.

            So Mike told him. He edited some things out, but told him the basic story of what had happened. Needless to say, Harvey was not happy.

            “Who does she think she is, telling my associate off like that? That’s _my_ job.”

            “She’s your boss, that’s who she is,” Mike retorted. “Which makes her mine. But honestly, Harvey, I deserved it. I shouldn’t have skipped last week without telling you.”

            “No, Mike, you didn’t. She didn’t even come to me to ask if I knew why you weren’t at work. If she had, I could have told her to leave you the hell alone.”

            “Harvey –.” Mike began, then stopped. He took a breath, then started again. “Harvey, I’m… sorry that you have to treat me like a kid. I’m sorry I’ve been acting like one.”

            “I’m not treating you like a kid, Mike,” Harvey said sternly, setting his mug on the coffee table. “I’m treating you like a human being. And your week off was partly my fault, too. I shouldn’t have ever pushed you to talk when you weren’t ready, or yelled at you. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll listen.”

            Mike knew that Harvey was being honest and caring in a way he was with few others, and the knowledge of that was sobering, and not the least bit humbling. So after a long moment of picking at a string on his shirt, Mike finally spoke.

             “My parents are dead, Harvey.”

            Harvey sighed. “I know, kid.”

            So Mike talked. He talked about his childhood, his parents’ death, how his memory allowed him – _forced_ him – to remember every detail about the night they died, and all the nights after. He talked about growing up with his grandmother, who, though as headstrong and determined as she had ever been in her younger years, was still taking on a responsibility not meant to be given to someone her age, and how that reality ended up putting strain on the both of them.

            He talked about being bullied in junior high and high school, and how one day he accidentally sliced his hand while making dinner, and how that led him to start cutting himself on purpose, finding it the only thing that calmed him down and made him feel like he had some semblance of control over what felt like an out-of-control life. He told him how it became a secret that he shared with no one, that, despite knowing it wasn’t healthy, he couldn’t help but secretly treasure. He told him how he’d decided to stop when he graduated high school, determined to start anew, but that despite all his efforts, he failed, and he continued to cut himself sporadically throughout the next decade of his life. It culminated – he reluctantly admitted – with his and Harvey’s fight over Jessica over seven months before, and he had been cutting regularly ever since.

            And Harvey listened. He didn’t yell at him, he didn’t turn away, he didn’t look at him like he was a freak. And for the first time in a very long time, Mike felt as though he finally knew what it felt like to have a friend.

 

                                                                                                              ***

 

                                                                         Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art...

                                                                         It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things

                                                                         that give value to survival.

                                                                                                                                 - C.S. Lewis


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter!

 

            Mike had thought it would be easier after that. He had thought that having resisted the urge to cut after the whole mess with Jessica that he had therefore conquered his problem with self-harm; that he was now well on the road to recovery, and could now deal with his issues in a far more healthy (and let’s face it, he thought, a normal) way.

            But he was wrong.      

            Two weeks after the confrontation with Jessica (for which he had to practically beg Harvey to leave alone, because the last thing he needed was someone fighting his battles for him and making him look even weaker than he already was), Mike had been sitting on his couch watching TV after a long day at work. It had been something that someone on a show had said, which had then been followed by another character commenting in reply, making a benign reference to cutting.  

            It had been _benign_.

            And yet for Mike, it was anything but.

            Before he even realised what he was doing, he found himself getting up and walking into the kitchen. His hand had grasped the handle of a knife from the drawer and he was making his way back to the couch where he had been sitting. A voice in the back of his mind told him not to do this, told him that he had come too far to go back, that he shouldn’t even be thinking of this, that there was no _reason_ to be doing thing – but he didn’t listen. Because it had been far too long since Mike last had cut, and all he could think about was the sweet sting of the blade as it bit into his skin, as the blood pooled in the crook of his arm, and the feelings of peacefulness and bliss that washed over him afterward, because this was familiar – because this made him feel good.

            Rather than making it easier, the fact that he hadn’t cut in over two weeks proved only to make him want it more. And so almost as soon as he sat down, Mike sat the edge of the blade on his wrist – clean, a clean wrist, an unscarred wrist, _too_ clean, _too_ unscarred – and pulled it across the skin.

            It was an achingly familiar feeling, the grip of the serrated blade pulling against his skin, tearing the blood out; it hurt only for a moment, but if Mike was honest, he knew that this pain was far better than any feeling of comfort he’d ever had.

            Mike cut five more times after that. After the first couple times he found he simply couldn’t stop, and before he knew it, more bleeding, soon-to-be scars had been made fresh above the old; above the scars that were supposed to have been his last, that were supposed to be fading away into memory, not making room for more.

            A wave of guilt washed over him at that moment and his hand stilled. He wasn’t supposed to be doing this. He was supposed to be calling Harvey or Donna when something bad happened, when something happened that could trigger his need to cut.

            Except nothing _had_ happened. He’d just been sitting here, watching TV, not doing anything – he hadn’t _done_ anything, nothing had been done to _him_ – but here he was, sitting in a pool of his own blood, with six new scars bleeding across his arm. With a small jolt, Mike suddenly realised that it wasn’t something bad having happened to him that he had started cutting, that he _was_ cutting. He was cutting because he could. He was cutting because it made him feel good.

            And as Mike stared at a spot on his arm that was free of any recent scars or blood, he realised – he didn’t want to stop.

            And so he placed the knife on his arm once more, and pulled.

 

                       

                                                                                                                       ***

           

            Harvey barely glanced up as Mike walked into the room before turning back to the file on his desk.            

            “Guiness cancelled the meeting, so we’re not talking to him until tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime I need you to go to the file room and find whatever you can on his business and its history; we can’t afford to be caught off guard with this one.”

            “All right,” Mike replied, sounding tired but ready like he always did on a Monday morning, but something in his voice made Harvey pause, and he looked up.         

            Harvey may not be a master at reading people in the way that Donna was, but he’d spent enough years in the legal profession to know when someone was keeping something from him or trying to hide something important. He frowned slightly, trying to read Mike’s face, but before he could scrutinize him further the younger man had turned around and was heading for the door. Just as he started to pull the handle, Harvey said, “Mike, wait.”

            Mike stopped, but his posture became rigid and his grip on the door handle tightened. And that was all the proof Harvey needed.

            Harvey wanted to feel nothing but compassion, he really did, but at the moment all he could feel was a rising anger burning in his chest, because damn it, he thought they were _through_ this! Things had been going great for the past two weeks; whenever Mike felt like cutting he’d call either him or Donna and they’d talk him down from it; they’d pick up food and go over to his place, or invite him over to theirs. They’d sit and eat and talk and laugh and Mike wouldn’t cut and everything was _good_. They were doing everything they were supposed to, they were doing everything right, everything had been going so good – so why?

            “Harvey, I –.”

            “What happened?”

            “It’s nothing –,” Mike tried to say, but Harvey cut him off.

            “That’s bullshit, Mike. Now tell me what happened. Did you run into someone? Did Jessica talk to you again? Did –.”

            “Nothing happened!” Mike nearly shouted. Why was he so upset? Harvey knew he cut, Donna knew he cut, they all knew – so why was he feeling so embarrassed?

            “Obviously something happened, Mike, or else –.”

            “No, you don’t get it!” Mike interrupted, finally turning around. “ _Nothing_ happened. Nothing. No one said anything, no one got angry with me – I didn’t even talk to anyone at all last night! All I was doing was watching TV, and – and then I was –.” Mike’s voice faltered and he swallowed, not wanting to say it, to admit to himself out loud what he already knew: that cutting was no longer just a way to deal with his problems, it had become something so much more, even if he wasn’t entirely sure yet what that was.

            Harvey stared at him for a long moment, whether in ire or sympathy, Mike couldn’t tell, until he finally motioned towards Mike. “Let me see,” he said.         

            “No,” Mike quickly replied, his hand unconsciously moving to cover his arm.

            “Yes, Mike.”

            “No! You don’t have to, there’s no reason to. I cut, okay? I cut, there are scars, I know, it’s fine, you don’t have to look to prove it to anyone, I –.”

            “Mike.”

            Mike started at the unexpected voice, and turned around to see Donna standing behind him, a disgusting look of sympathy on her face as she peered up at him. Mike suddenly felt like a cornered animal, and the urge to run away grew stronger.

            “No, Donna, it’s fine – I admit that I cut last night, so why do you guys need to see it? There’s no reason for you to have to see it.”

            Donna glanced at Harvey and the two shared a look that Mike couldn’t see, before Donna turned her eyes back to him.

            “You’re right,” she said calmly, and a bit of the tenseness in Mike’s shoulders eased, but not by much. “We’re sorry. You don’t have to show us anything you don’t want to. But can you at least tell us what happened? We just want to help.”

            Mike stared at her for a moment, biting his lip, his grip on his arm never weakening.          

            “I just… I was just watching TV and I… it mentioned something about c… cutting, and I… I just felt like cutting, and so I did.”

            Harvey frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but Donna cut him off. “Why didn’t you call one of us? You know you can call us Mike, no matter what time it is.”

            “I wasn’t expecting it. I wasn’t expecting to… and then I guess… I hadn’t in so long, and…” Mike trailed off, suddenly feeling both tired and annoyed at the whole interrogation, because he was a grown man, damn it, and he shouldn’t have to –.

            “Sit down, Mike,” Donna said, gently touching his shoulder and leading him towards the couch. Mike sat.      

            Mike took a breath, suddenly feeling the need to defend himself against Harvey and Donna’s stares, against their judgements. But while he felt the need to lash out and get upset, the rational, logical part of him wouldn’t let him, because it knew that his cutting hadn’t been a good thing, and that they were only trying to help him, help that he had been wanting and accepting until last night….

            “I know… I know that I shouldn’t have cut, that I shouldn’t _want_ to cut. I know that. But then another part of me just doesn’t care. It just wants to cut and I – I don’t know how –.”

            “You don’t know how to stop it,” Donna finished. Mike didn’t say anything, his silence affirmation enough. They sat in silence for a long moment, before Donna started to speak. “No one said this was going to be easy, Mike. And if either of us implied that, we’re sorry. We shouldn’t have given the impression that you were expected to just up and quit, that there wouldn’t be any relapses, that you just simply wouldn’t cut again. Because that’s not how this works. That’s not how addictions work; if addictions were that easy to quit, they wouldn’t be a problem to begin with.”

            Mike frowned. “This isn’t an addiction, Donna,” he said. “People get addicted to alcohol, to drugs – they don’t get addicted to cutt–.”

            “Yes, they do, Mike,” Donna interrupted. “Cutting can start off as a way to deal with your issues, but it can easily become an addictive behaviour that’s as difficult to quit as any other addiction.”

            “And how do you know this?” Mike asked, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. He wasn’t addicted; he _wasn’t_.

            “What, you think that when my friend is going through something like this, that I’m going to try helping them by going in blind?” Her lips pulled up into a small grin. “I don’t just live to help Harvey and all of _his_ problems, you know.”

            Mike managed a small smile in return, but it quickly faded away. They were silent for a moment, before he began to speak.

            “It’s like… it’s like there’s an itch, beneath my skin. I try to ignore it, but that only makes it worse. And the only way to scratch it is to… is to cut. And when I see the skin and there’s nothing there, it’s like…” Mike swallowed, trying to force the words out, to force himself to be honest, because he’d kept this a secret for far too long already. “It’s like a blank canvas, and that only makes the itch worse, and I can’t… it feels… it feels _good_ , to cut. And last night I thought… I thought, I hadn’t cut in so long, and… and I just wanted to feel it again.” Mike looked up, expecting to see disgust on his friends’ faces, but instead seeing only their steady gaze. “My head knows that it’s wrong; logically and rationally I know that I have to stop. But my… my heart, it wants to do it. It doesn’t care about logic or rationality, it just _wants_ , so I… so I cut. And I can’t say that I don’t want to do it again.”

            Donna was silent, thinking over her words, but before she could say anything, Harvey spoke. “Then you try. You try your damndest not to do it, and if you fail – well… then you get up and try again. And we’ll be with you every step of the way, Mike. We won’t leave you to do this on your own.”

            Mike had once thought that after his grandmother had died, that he was now truly on his own in the world; that he didn’t have anyone left who would look out for him, whether he needed it or not. He was just finally realising how wrong he was.

            “Mike,” Donna began after a moment, “this is just a thought, but… what if… what if you moved in with Harvey?”

            Mike made a face, and expected Harvey to make one too, but surprisingly he hadn’t. “What?” Mike said. “I don’t need someone monitoring me 24/7; I’m not some patient in a psych ward –.”        

            “It’s not about that, Mike,” Harvey interceded. Clearly he and Donna had discussed this before. “It’s about a friend helping out a friend. That’s all.”

            Mike took a deep breath to help calm himself down. It might not be so bad, he thought; if he was really serious about stopping, about breaking this… addiction, then….

            “I’ll think about it,” he said finally. Harvey nodded.

            “Good. Now go to the file room; I need those briefs by this afternoon.”

           

                                                                                                                                  ***

           

            He resisted going to Harvey’s, at first, but after two more nights of cutting throughout the next two weeks, he decided to go. It would only be temporary, he thought as he packed his clothes into a suitcase and zipped it up. It was just meant to help him, that was all.         

            He stayed with Harvey for four months. At first he’d been resistant, but after a while living with a roommate became routine. Harvey was the one sacrificing the most, the older lawyer insisted, having given up his solitude and ability to have women over whenever he wanted, which spurred a few near walk-outs by Mike, but both men quickly made amends and soon living with Harvey became… almost normal. Almost, Mike dared to say, fun.

            He’d finally managed to convince Harvey to watch Netflix, and soon they were having marathon nights filled with all the TV shows that Mike insisted Harvey watch, and a few that Harvey managed to suggest as well. They would order-in pizza or Chinese, or even – despite Harvey’s initial protests – basic fast-food, and suddenly Mike felt like he was nineteen again, living with his best friend, making crap-money at a crap-job (except this time it was phenomenal money at a job he’d always dreamed of doing), and having the time of his life.

            But nothing is perfect.

            Mike ended up cutting again, despite Harvey’s close proximity, despite his desire to help. Harvey found him in the bathroom, got mad at him, then proceeded to help clean him up. It happened more times after that than Mike cared to admit, but each and every time Harvey or Donna were there to help him, and for the first time in a very long time – Mike didn’t feel alone.

            Eventually Harvey and Donna convinced him to talk to a therapist, which Mike had at first fervently refused to see, but as he went to the sessions – albeit begrudgingly – he started to find that they actually helped. The exercises and methods the woman had given him to help avoid cutting had actually, to Mike’s great surprise, worked. She gave him a squeeze-ball that she instructed he use whenever he had the desire to cut, and soon Mike was using the squeeze-ball wherever he went, squeezing and tossing it around as he animatedly discussed a case with Harvey, or as he sat behind his desk researching for an upcoming trial. It became something he never left home without.

            But despite all of the progress he made and continued to make, Mike still stumbled, and sometimes he fell – hard. But the length of time between cuts became greater and greater, and soon it had been six months since a blade had last touched his wrist. It wasn’t easy; he still felt the urge to cut himself whenever something particularly bad happened, or if he’d been in a particularly distressing yelling match with Harvey or Jessica, or another lawyer. Sometimes the urge was strong, sometimes it wasn’t, but each and every time Mike was able to resist. He would call Harvey or Donna if he felt he needed their help, and soon that small group of friends extended to include people like Rachael, who came into the situation with such a quiet gentleness that could only leave Mike in admiration and wonder.

            Cutting would always be a shadow in his life, a presence that lived on the outskirts, always ready to reappear when Mike least wanted it to. But Mike was determined; and no matter how many times he cut, no matter how many times he failed – he would always get back up, because he refused to go back to where he’d been – to hiding his grief, his anger, and his turmoil and taking it out instead on himself. He’d come too far to go back, and he knew that with Harvey and Donna by his side – with his friends – he could make it in the end.

 

 

                                                                                                                             ***

                                                                                        We all want progress, but if you're on the wrong road,

                                                                                        progress means doing an about-turn and walking back

                                                                                        to the right road...

                                                                                        Failures, repeated failures, are finger-posts on the road

                                                                                        to achievement.

                                               

                                                                                                                                                            - C.S. Lewis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those that have been following this story for a while, I just want to say a huge "thank you", and also an apology for how long it took to get the final chapter up. Apparently the stress of school and finals makes it easier for me to write, somehow. 
> 
> I could have gone on longer with this story, but decided to end it here as I believe it would have just gone over the same scenarios over and over again, and I felt that would have been tiring for both me and the reader. Hopefully this ending has sufficed! It was a bit rushed at the end, I feel, but I got to where I wanted in the end. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading, leaving kudos, and for all your wonderful comments! They're all greatly appreciated.


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